By W.A. Leggatt

Voices of the Ilskini

Echoes of a Lost Goddess

Copyright © 2024 by W.A. Leggatt

Published by Inkborn Press

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions or locales is completely coincidental.

Editing by Julian Barr

Cover art and design by Lizzie Leggatt

Map by W.A Leggatt

ISBN: 978-1-0686584-0-2

ASIN: B0D4JJLJZW

www.inkbornblade.com

For Lizzie, my rock.

Table of Contents

Map of Alliquis

Pel

Saphielle

Ashuto

Saphielle

Pel

Saphielle

Ashuto

Saphielle

Haradrok

Ashuto

Pel

Saphielle

Ashuto

Saphielle

Ashuto

Pel

Ashuto

Saphielle

Ashuto

Ashuto

Pel

Haradrok

Saphielle

Ashuto

Saphielle

Pel

Saphielle

Ashuto

Saphielle

Ashuto

Pel

Saphielle

Haradrok

Saphielle

Ashuto

Saphielle

Saphielle

Ashuto

Saphielle

Pel

Ashuto

Haradrok

Saphielle

Saphielle

Ashuto

Pel

Ashuto

Saphielle

Ashuto

Saphielle

Saphielle

Saphielle

Ashuto

Pel

Saphielle

Saphielle

Saphielle

Pel

Pel

Author’s Note

Map of Alliquis

Scan the QR Code to see the map of Alliquis.

The elders tell of a time before the snows. When folk could roam free as wind and the Lost Goddess Simetra still loosed her burning arrow across the sky. When the cycle of the seasons brought new colours and new life. When there was hope in the world. The stories are told around the wayfires that protect us from the cold. Passed from traveller to traveller like legends, but these stories are true. These stories are our history, and our future.

Pel

I struggled against the wind. Each swirling gust drove shards of ice into my face which even the scarves and furs could not deflect. I pulled them tighter all the same. Blinking away the flakes that clung to my eyelashes, I scoured the landscape for any sign of the Sanctuary I’d seen only minutes before, but all was a cloak of white. My mouth ran dry and the prickle of sweat crawled across my brow despite the cold. To die now, in shouting distance of the Sanctuary, would be a wry hand. One worthy of Koruel himself. The God of Tricks and Tales was not dissuaded by a bit of snow.

I spun round, straining my eyes through the restless sky. It all looked the same.

“Sanctuary,” I shouted into the howling wind.

Somewhere in the blizzard a horn sounded in reply deep and strong. They must have seen the pitiful light of my lantern before the wind extinguished it. The horn blew again and, as if the noise had blown the snow away, I saw the gates. They stood open a crack, spilling golden light onto the fresh blanket of snow. It was a glorious sight. I hefted my pack higher and forced my frozen legs to move.

Several long moments later, the doors slammed shut behind me as I tumbled through. Firm hands lifted me and brushed the snow from my coat.

My saviour was a man, lines creasing the corners of his eyes and a lock of steel-grey hair escaping from his hood. “There we go, laddie. A killer storm, that. Lucky we spotted you coming, but you made it, which is the important thing. Join the fires and warm yourself up.”

“You have my thanks,” I said through chattering teeth.

“I’m Harunath, the warden of this here Eastfold Sanctuary, and this is my daughter, Imogen.” He indicated the slight figure huddled in furs beside him.

“And what shall we call you, traveller?” the woman asked. Her eyes – the same cool blue as her father’s – narrowed as she surveyed me fully. She had the right, I supposed. I must have looked a sight, and while no person could deny another rest at their fire, wardens had a duty to protect all those who sought their safety. So if that meant hurling a troublemaker back out into the snow, then so be it. The greater good and all that.

“My name’s Pel.”

Harunath placed a hand on his daughter’s shoulder and she relaxed. “Welcome, Pel. I can assure you all who shelter here abide by the Laws of the Fireside. If you do so too, there’ll be no quarrel.”

“Believe me, I have no intention of doing anything otherwise. My destination is Brightfont, and I’m sure I’m not the only one.”

“That you aren’t. Most folk here are headed that way too, you’ll be in good company on the road. But I’ve held your attention long enough. Go, embrace the heat.”

I nodded my thanks. Trouble was the last thing I wanted, and it was only by misfortune I had missed the caravan that morning. I stepped away from the warden and his daughter and took in what would be my home for the night.

The Sanctuary was open to the sky and the snow drifted lazily down to settle on the canvas canopies erected within the walls, which stood near thirty yards tall. Walls, the draw of all Sanctuaries. They kept the winds out as surely as the things that lived in the wastes. Spread across the ground, campfires erupted like glowcap mushrooms and the fruits of the road sat around them. There was a low hum of conversation and pale smoke hazed the air between the snowflakes. The tension I’d been keeping in my shoulders dissolved. I was safe. For one night at least. I patted my breast. With mittens and coat I barely felt it, but my cargo was secure inside my furs. In the centre of the compound was a larger fire and a healthy throng of people gathered around the dancing flames. Steam from a pot of stew wafted through the air. My stomach growled. I’d not eaten since leaving Greybarrow and my belly wouldn’t let me forget it.

An assortment of characters lounged by the fire. A pair of Hunters sat oiling the horn of their bows. I’d never seen a Hunter this close before. At first glance they passed for human, but their skin was too pale and their pupils were slitted. The nearest one caught me staring and his lip curled back. I hurriedly looked away. On the other side of the fire, an older man carved a shape from bone. It had four legs, a creature from before the Ruin, but that was as much as I knew.

“Mind if I join you?” I said.

“By all means. All are welcome here,” the man said, though his tone told me he couldn‘t care less if I sat or not. I did, finding a patch of bare earth between the old man and a girl no older than seven, and spreading a fur over it to insulate my arse at least a little. I rummaged in my pack and emerged again wielding a horn cup. A present from my parents when I turned eighteen, twelve long years ago.

The stew was brown with a layer of grease floating on top and unidentified lumps breaking the surface. I took a mugful and allowed the excess to drip down the side back into the pot. Steam rose from the liquid and I took a sip. Earthy and peppery. Not the best food I‘d ever eaten, but it was hot and all there was.

The Hunter fixed me with a glare that chilled my blood far quicker than the snow.

“We don’t take kindly to parasites here,” he snarled.

“Kernick, that’s enough. The lad must be shattered after trekking through this storm. Give him a chance,” the second Hunter said. She was broader than Kernick and her white hair was twisted into a braid that draped over her shoulder. Kernick spat and returned to his weapon.

I hastily found some strips of dried meat in my pack, ripped them up and threw them into the pot to replenish what I’d taken. That was the secret of Sanctuary stew. An unholy alliance of whatever food people could spare chucked together and left to simmer until it became one unidentifiable mixture. I took another long gulp before it turned stone cold.

With hot food in my belly and the weight taken off my feet, I allowed myself to relax a little. That lasted a matter of heartbeats.

A wail from outside the walls broke through the gentle chatter. I sat bolt upright.

“What was that?” the girl next to me asked.

“Snowfiend, no doubt about it.”

“Not a chance, that was a Frosthawk and nothing more.”

“You’re all wrong,” the old man said, finally looking up from his carving. “That was the cry of a White Wyrm, and an ill omen it is, too. It was the sire of all White Wyrms that brought the snows almost a century ago, and the presence of one of its descendants means only one thing.”

“What does it mean?” The girl’s eyes were round and bright, reflecting the firelight. She clutched her blanket tight up under her chin.

“It means that someone who heard its cry will die by the time the snow has settled.”

“You’re jesting,” the girl said.

“Am I?” I expected a twinkle to reach the elder’s eye, but there was nothing to suggest his words were anything but sincere.

“Yes. You must be.”

“There are stories that speak of White Wyrms. Simetra herself fell to the first and greatest of the White Wyrms.”

At the mention of a story, the girl perked up and clapped her hands. “Tell us. Tell us the story of the Lost Goddess.”

The man tucked his carving into his pack and sheathed the small knife. “A story while that creature roams abroad?”

“Aye, why not?” The girl’s mother appeared and wrapped her in her arms. “The walls are strong and high, that thing can’t get to us. You’ve scared the wee’uns with your old wives’ tale, ‘tis only fair you make it right.”

“Well, if it’s a story you want, a story you shall have. Sit, make yourselves comfortable, for this story is of monsters and heroes, Goddesses and White Wyrms, and I know it’s true, for I was a young lad when it happened.”

Saphielle

A blue pennant snapped in the breeze, making the twin horses of Alliquis rear and prance across the fabric. Saphielle reigned her own mount alongside her brother’s at the crest of the rise and looked down into the valley beyond. Smoke rose from the charred shells of a village which occupied the valley floor and rose in thick columns to stain the sky a dirty grey.

“They’re growing bolder,” Barok said, running fingers through his copper beard. “A month ago, the raids barely left the borderlands but this is the fifth village past the Redwash that’s been sacked.”

Saphielle sniffed. The air was acrid, a stench that would cling to her cloak and not leave her for days. “They seek to anger us. To provoke us into a reckless attack. Father won’t fall for it, he knows their tricks from all angles.”

“He may see through it, but we can’t afford to let these raids continue much longer. Each one is a blow to morale and a loss of good resources and good people. There will come a time when we have to bring our full might to bear, no matter the arguments against it.”

A mounted soldier broke from the troop of Noonguard formed up in neat lines a little way down the road. The trees either side of the path were reflected in his filigreed breastplate, still mirror-perfect even after days on the road.

“Sir, the squad is ready to scout the village. Shall we proceed?”

“Carry on, captain. Gather the survivors, they’ll need food and shelter.” The lancer snapped a polished salute and wheeled his mount around. With a few barked orders, the troop clattered past, their lances aloft and plumes flying from their helmets. Saphielle flicked her reins but Barok’s hand latched onto her arm.

“Be careful. I know you want to help as many of our people as you can, but that’s no reason to put yourself at risk. You know what I mean.”

She pulled away. “You treat me like a girl, yet I’m twenty-one. I don’t need to be coddled.”

“It’s not your safety I’m most worried about, it’s mine. Yolene would string me from the Sunkeep if I let you come to harm.” His face broke into a grin. “Come on, we can’t let the captain take all the glory.” Barok squeezed his thighs and his destrier leapt forward.

“Hey, that’s not fair. You’ve got a head start.” Saphielle leant over the saddle and in a heartbeat wind streamed through her hair. A laugh bubbled up to the surface. For a moment, all that existed was thundering hooves and cool air rushing past her face.

She caught Barok as they crossed the burnt remains of a low palisade and her smile faded. Embers crackled and shifting timbers groaned like wounded soldiers. Most of the houses had collapsed and only a handful of walls remained standing. She slipped from her saddle as they passed between the wreckage.

“Where are the bodies?” Barok asked in a hoarse whisper.

“Maybe they escaped.” She answered more in hope than expectation. The survivors of the other raids she could count on one hand.

“Sir, over here.” Saphielle’s stomach dropped like a boulder. She sought her brother’s arm and clung to it like she had when they were little as they stepped into the village centre. The village was clustered around a common green with a small stone well at its middle. The grass had been trampled into a dark slurry tinged red, not even a stray pig or goose to break the fragile silence.

Saphielle found the captain. His mouth was a tight line and the knuckles of his left hand stood out white as he gripped the pommel of his sabre. He pointed to the well.

Every instinct told her not to look, but she was the Princept and the last thing she could be was weak. The first thing that got her was the smell, then the drone of flies even in that weather. A misshapen lump appeared beneath the rim of the well. Easy enough to dismiss as a bundle of rags or sack of old wheat. Easy enough to turn around and walk away. She held her breath and peered over the wall. Her stomach lurched and she jerked back. Hot bile seared her throat and she vomited, narrowly avoiding her shoes. Wiping her mouth with her hand, she braved another look.

The wellshaft was filled with bodies. Only bodies. Every corpse she could see was headless. Men, women, children. All decapitated and hurled into the well. Disgust turned slowly to anger.

“When I find the bastards that did this, I’ll…” She tailed off. Whatever she did, it would be painful.

Barok’s skin had turned ashen. “This is too far,” he muttered, then straightened, the mask coming down again. “Captain, what else have your troops found?”

“This is all we’ve found of the villagers. Anything else of value appears to have been taken. They’ve even sacked the Temple of Simetra.” What was left of the temple stood on the fair side of the common, still smoking. Saphielle stumbled over to it. Anything to be away from that well of horror.

“Organise your troops to retrieve the bodies. The least we can do is prepare them properly for the Sunlit Pastures,” Barok said behind her. To their credit, the soldiers didn’t object, as was only to be expected from the Noonguard. They weren’t elite troops for nothing.

The stone archway was all that remained of the temple’s front wall. There should have been an ornate door within it, but that was reduced to the ash around her feet. The rest of the wall had toppled inwards, stone bricks covered in soot. In a village this small, the temple wouldn’t have been grandiose — nothing compared to the temple in Lendas, with its white stone walls and stained glass — but it was still a temple, and to desecrate it was beyond a crime. The Firthenites even worshipped the same Gods. What could they gain from destroying it? The banks of gently smoking embers radiated heat and sweat dripped inside her armour. She sifted through the ash littering the floor with her boot. How many prayers had been offered to Simetra from this temple? How many of those had been answered? Certainly none of those wailed into the sky in the last, desperate minutes.

A stone dais stood at the far end where worshipers left their offerings, but all that had been reduced to nothing. Lumps of charcoal disintegrated as she stood on them. The fire here had been hot enough for the ash to turn soft but now, strangely, it was cool. She knelt and raked through the cold ash. Her fingers closed around something solid.

She pulled it out and brushed it clean. A small arrowhead, ornamental, carved from Flamestone with a hole drilled through it so it could be attached to a thong. She held it between her finger and thumb and held it up to the sky so the thin sunlight shone through. Many wore the sign of Simetra, cast in bronze or even gold, but Flamestone was rare, a valuable thing to leave as an offering.

As she held it, her thoughts turned unbidden to home and to the most precious thing in her life. Mirabelle, her daughter. At two years old, she was becoming a handful. The hole inside her she’d tried to suppress since leaving Lendas two weeks ago threatened to break its banks. All she wanted to do was hold her daughter. How many mothers here had had to watch as… She couldn’t even put words to the thought.

“Sister. Where are you?” Her brother’s voice invaded her thoughts and she tucked the arrowhead away. She wiped the tears from her cheek, rose and made her way out with ash on her knees. “We must get word of this to our father. Half the soldiers will stay here to finish the burials, but we have no time to waste.”

Saphielle looked around the skeletons of the houses as if the enemy could be hiding behind the blackened spars. “Do you think that’s wise? We don’t know how many there were or where they’ve gone.”

“But we know who is responsible, and this information must be conveyed with haste, otherwise this will not be the last village we lose. The Firthenites are inching towards Lendas and I fear they’re clearing a path for an army.”

It felt a little disrespectful to leave while the bodies were in that state, but she couldn’t bear to spend another moment in that ruin of a village.

Back in the saddle they made their way north accompanied by a score of Noonguard. The road took them beneath the trees in the bowl of the valley and the stink of the dead was replaced with fresh air and tree sap. The journey would take four days, three if they pushed their horses hard, but every minute was vital.

“Firthen wouldn’t be so foolish as to attack Lendas directly, would they?” Saphielle asked, pulling her horse level with Barok’s.

“They’ve been ravaging our borders for years and twice we’ve sent them back with their tails between their legs. Even our own raids aren’t enough to quell them. They’re becoming desperate and will continue to resort to more violent means.”

“I don’t even know what they want.”

“They want what we have. They look across the border and are consumed by envy. They think they can take what we have built by force, not realising it’s not our art or architecture that makes Alliquis great, but the minds within it. Only through harsh justice have we kept them in line these last decades. I…”

The riders at the front of the pack had slowed. Barok trailed off and craned his neck to see why. Something dangled over the path, suspended from a rope looped over the branch of a tree. The captain held his hand up and formed a fist and the Noonguard brought their mounts to a halt a dozen yards from the object. A slow dawning of realisation stole over Saphielle like the rising tide.

“Is that…?”

“I think we’ve found the rest of the villagers.” Now she’d seen it, she noticed more and more hanging from the trees either side of the path like grotesque fruits.

“Cut them down,” the captain snapped, his forehead furrowed deep as a spring field. The soldiers dismounted and drew swords. No one spoke as they started the grim task of plucking the severed heads. They worked in pairs. One to hold the heads and the other to detach them with a swift slash. The sallow faces were frozen in the masks of terror they’d worn when they’d been murdered, reflected in the revulsion and anger of the Noonguard.

Barok sat in his saddle, carved from stone as he watched the proceedings. Saphielle tried to follow his lead, but every time she caught a glimpse of one of the heads she had to fight to keep what was left of her stomach contents where it belonged. Had the Firthenites done this purely out of jealousy? She’d seen paintings of Firthen, almost identical to Alliquis. The maps in her father’s study showed they both had similar terrain and resources, so why were they so intent on taking what wasn’t theirs?

Almost all the heads had been removed and laid carefully at the side of the path when a Noonguard removed her helmet to wipe the sweat from her eyes. There was a short whistle and something long and thin grew from her eye socket. Another burst from her throat and she dropped soundlessly. For a heartbeat there was utter stillness.

“Archers!” The captain shouted before an arrow lodged itself in his open mouth and he collapsed with a gurgle. More arrows hissed from the trees, leaving a faint blue trail in their wake. Noonguard threw themselves to the ground or ran for cover. Many of them didn’t get far before an arrow found them, the tip glowing as it punched through armour. A horse barrelled past, a shaft sticking from its flank and dragging a soldier caught in the stirrup. He cried for help, desperately trying to free his foot from the metal loop. Then his head hit a root with a sickening crunch and he went limp, bouncing down the road as the animal bolted. Barok wheeled his horse around and drew his sword.

“On me. On me.” The remaining Noonguard rallied to him. Some were more fortunate with their mounts and had regained the saddle, the rest formed up on foot. Saphielle nudged her stallion closer.

“Fight us face to face, cowards,” Barok called to the trees. An arrow answered and pinged from his shoulder. It scored a red line across his cheek.

“Why would we do that when we can stick you full of arrows?” A heavily accented voice came from the forest. Saphielle suddenly wished she was traveling with one of the heavy infantry divisions with their thick, wide shields. The Noonguard were the pride of the army and the sound of their hooves brought terror to any enemy that heard it, but in this instance they were useless. Another arrow flew from the undergrowth and ripped through a Noonguard’s breastplate like it was parchment.

Saphielle gasped. This armour came from the finest forges in Alliquis and should have been able to withstand a ballista bolt. If they stayed here any longer, they’d all be picked off. Barok came to the same conclusion a moment later.

In the absence of the captain, the Noonguard looked around for a commander. A woman spurred her horse forward, the white plume on her helmet marking her as a sergeant. “Form up, we must reach Lendas. Wedge formation,” she shouted, lifting her sabre and swaying out of the way of another arrow.

With the order given, those Noonguard still in possession of a horse manoeuvred themselves into position. The poor bastards on foot would have to hope they could run fast enough.

“Charge.” They surged forwards, Saphielle and Barok in the rear rank. The formation would allow them to plough through any line the Firthenites may have strung across the road. Blue flashes shot across the path. More Noonguard fell. A stricken horse appeared in front of her and she jerked on the reins to avoid tumbling over it. There was a groan in the trees and a crack loud enough to break through the thudding hoofbeats and screams of the dying. A trunk as thick as two barrels fell towards them.

Saphielle reached out as if she could do something to prevent the inevitable. The sergeant leading the charge was miraculously still alive and her face contorted in fear as the tree came down. All other sounds seemed to fade as the trunk crunched into the soldier and she disappeared in a rain of leaves, splinters and red mist. The next rank of horses ploughed into the shattered tree, its branches as vicious as a bank of pikes. Then the Firthenites came from the forest. Clad in black armour, they roared as they ran.

A hand grabbed Saphielle’s arm and she screamed. She jerked her arm away and twisted in the saddle to get a look at her attacker, but it was only Barok.

“There’s too many of them. You have to reach Father and give him the message.”

Saphielle opened her mouth to object, but Barok didn’t give her a chance.

“Don’t argue, you must do this. The information we have is too important not to reach Lendas.” He leant aside and hacked down at an attacking warrior, splitting his enemy from crown to bearded chin. “Ride for the trees. Do everything in your power to deliver the news, even more so now. This ambush wasn’t a chance attack.”

A group of warriors approached with their weapons raised.

“Go,” said Barok, “I’ll hold them off.”

She lingered, desperate to reach out and grab him, to take him home with her, but beneath it all, she knew he was right. She needed to reach home, for her daughter and to warn her father of the threat.

Only a handful of Noonguard were still mounted and they formed a circle around those on foot. They were backed up to the fallen tree with its grim decoration of impaled horses and soldiers. A huge Firthenite caught a sabre blow on his gauntlet, stepped inside the rider’s reach and dragged them from the saddle. Once on the ground, the surrounding warriors hacked down again and again. Blood dripped from the blades and flew through the air as they rose and fell. The bodies on the ground told the story of the Noonguard’s strength and courage, but at some point, sheer numbers had to tell.

The enemy warriors came forward again towards Barok, fanning out to cover all angles.

“Go.”

With a last look at her brother, Saphielle flicked the reins and her horse leapt forwards. In an instant she raced between tree trunks, ducking under branches and hoping her mount knew better than to smash her into a bough. Something under the horse’s foot gave in and the animal stumbled, whinnying in pain.

There was a shout behind and she wrenched her head around. A group of warriors from the main group had spotted her escape. One nocked an arrow and drew the fletching back to his stubbled cheek. He let it fly. The arrow streaked blue, missed her leg by a hair and plunged into the horse’s side, tearing through its lungs.

Saphielle, hunched over its neck, found the leaf mulch rushing fast up to meet her.

She hit the ground. Pain shot through her shoulder and leafy dirt filled her mouth and nose. Spitting it out, she pulled herself to her feet. Her shoulder was on fire and something warm and wet trickled down the side of her face. She touched her scalp and her fingers came away sticky, red. Armour prevented her from checking her collarbone. It didn’t feel broken, but the pain throbbed with every heartbeat. Her mount writhed a few yards away. She’d been lucky not to break her leg under it. Red froth coated its lips and blood bubbled around the arrow. What was it that could cause so much damage? She tore the strange missile from the horse’s chest, someone in Lendas would know what it was

The Firthenite swore and she glanced back at him, her collarbone screaming at the movement. Barok saw him fumble another arrow from his quiver. The first had been a sighter, and a damn close one at that, the next wouldn’t miss her. Barok chopped down, sending a sword dropping to the floor with a hand still grasped around the hilt, and rode for the archer. The man had finally drawn another arrow and pulled the string back as Barok bore down on him. He must have seen what was coming in the corner of his eye, for he pulled the bow around and released as the horse’s shoulder struck him. Saphielle gasped. Barok’s horse trampled the archer, but the arrow had ripped through its chest and the creature collapsed a few steps later. Barok tumbled from the saddle into the rest of the enemy.

Saphielle hugged the tree in front of her, as much to stop herself collapsing as anything else.

Barok was already back on his feet and his sword flicked out to send another Firthenite to Caenyss, or wherever it was heathens like them ended up. The warriors around him rolled back like grass in the wind, but only for a moment. All eyes were on him now and no-one spared a thought for her.

She should have left then, slipped away into the trees and back to Lendas, but she couldn’t pull herself away from the trunk supporting her. Barok was good with a blade, she’d watched him enough times in the practice ring as he defeated all challengers, but never had he fought this many at once. His sword was everywhere, deflecting the enemies’ weapons and finding gaps in their armour. Body after body fell with their throats cut open or a hole in the soft parts of their chest. But as good as he was, Barok couldn’t stop everything. More cuts appeared on his face and hands. The bright metal of his armour was smeared with crimson.

Something rustled the leaves behind her. She flinched and spun round in case one of the Firthenites had snuck up without her noticing. A Skrynia burst from the undergrowth. Black feathered with an iridescent stripe from head to tail. It veered in the air as it sought a safer bush and revealed the eye-shaped markings on the underside of its tail feathers.

Koruel’s eye.

A swell of fury rose in her chest. Her life and the lives of her comrades weren’t playthings for the Gods to toss around. She turned back to the fight and the anger fell away, leaving a gaping hole of nothingness.

Barok was on one knee. Still fighting, but each parry was slower than the last, each riposte weaker. Everything told her to look away but she couldn’t. She was powerless to prevent it.

With a shout, one warrior knocked Barok’s sword from his hand.

An axe rose and fell and tears rolled down her cheeks.

Ashuto

Ashuto Ahearn rummaged through a crate of scrap parchment. The yellowing paper left a musty stink in his nostrils as he pulled piece after piece from the box, inspected it, and threw it to one side. Three years ago, he’d hated the smell of parchment. Now it brought a smile to his lips, for it meant work. Meant the logical categorisation of the world around him. Turning the chaos of nature into quill and brush stroke and locking it away on parchment.

Near the bottom of the box, he found what he was looking for. A square of good paper, maybe a foot each size and unblemished except for a nick torn from one corner. He rolled it carefully and secured it with a length of rag before placing it into the satchel on his back.

A slash of morning sun cut through the grimy window and landed on his master’s map table. A table Ashuto should have been keeping tidy, rather than swiping parchment. In the grey light, the shape of the map took form on the paper. Cursory lines sketched out the southern border with Alliquis. At the thick-dashed line that marked the boundary between the two countries the detail of Firthen was replaced with only the major landmarks. This was now enemy territory after all, and beyond the expanse of the Bloodwash, the map was entirely blank. A generation ago, the map would have been complete, but whatever magic Haradrok, King of Alliquis, had employed after seizing Rhondal had destroyed all written knowledge of the region and the country beyond, including maps. A travesty.

Ashuto practically shuddered with excitement. In a couple of weeks’ time, he and his master would accompany the Firthenite army into Alliquis to fill in the details of this map. To turn the faint lines into certain ink.

“Boy, where’s my breakfast?” Ashuto jumped and his knee hit the table leg. He lunged to catch an ink pot before it toppled over. As he did, his satchel swung round and squashed the parchment within between the table and his thigh. He sighed. Damaged parchment it would have to be.

A couple of hours later, Ashuto joined the thin trickle of people passing through the town gates. There were more than usual. The inevitability of war had convinced the less committed to put a greater distance between themselves and the border. A lack of faith, in Ashuto’s opinion. Amul wouldn’t let them fail, not after everything the Alliquis had done to them. Personally, he couldn’t wait to cross the border and cheers as their brave soldiers got stuck into the enemy.

He left the road onto a different path, no more than a track, leading eventually up the steep valley slope. Ostensibly, he was going to collect a certain leaf which grew there if the conditions were right. His master boiled them in piss and, by some miracle, turned them into a rich blue ink. How anyone ever worked that particular recipe out in the first place, he’d never know. The true reason for this trek, though, was something else entirely.

He reached the treeline after passing through scrubland where cattle and sheep grazed. It took a hardy sort of animal and human to work this land. A thin twig of smoke rose from one of the turf-covered huts the herders called home, protected slightly by the tall pines. Ashuto avoided it. Where he was going was his secret place and he wanted no human interaction. The path was spongy and soft with pine needles. He scuffed his feet, kicking them into the air and releasing the smell of spruce into the cool air. Ashuto needed no map here. He’d drawn several, of course, most consigned to the small fire in his bedroom, but one he’d kept under his mattress. The first map he’d ever felt proud of. He pictured it in his head, the route of a path that didn’t exist. His waymarker was a fallen tree still straining for the skies, but with half its roots torn from the soil there was an inevitability of its decline. The skeletal tip appeared around a bend in the path and Ashuto grinned. Though the ground here was equally thick with needles he saw a well-trodden path he’d plotted and committed to ink, the one fallacy on a document of absolute truth. For what could be truer than the world?

The path twisted between the trees and up the slope of the valley. Soon, his breath came heavy and even the sprightliness of youth couldn’t prevent the burn in his calves. He rejoiced in it, for it meant he was close to his destination.

The top of the ridge came suddenly. He leant against a trunk and let the air fill his lungs. It tasted cleaner up here. No smoke or pig shit or general stench of human existence. This was pure air. From the chill it carried today, it swept from the south, rolling off the snow-capped mountains and bringing with it promises of excitement and adventure. Once his legs had recovered, he headed along the ridge further away from Craydon. With the rustle of the trees and only birds flitting between the branches, he could imagine he was the only person left in the world. A little further on, the ground changed again. It became rockier, the trees thinned and the base of a crag came into view. He ran the last few-dozen yards to the bottom of the rock. He found the first holds by instinct and muscle-memory alone, the stone rough beneath his fingers, and made quick work of the climb. A blast of wind hit him as he pulled himself onto the crag’s top and he shivered as the cold air carried away the sweat that stuck his shirt to his back. From here, the town looked like a miniature carved from wood. The road north cut across the pastures and the travellers on it, more of them now, were mere insects. Ashuto paid them a fleeting glance. The real reason he was there lay south. He turned his face to the wind, felt the warmth of the sun on his cheek and breathed deep. Beyond the trees and the steppes, the peaks of the Misttrace brushed the clouds, rainbow-tinged mist rolling down the slopes. Sunlight painted one side of the mountains in brightness, while casting the other into shadow. As long as he lived, he’d never find a better sight.

He sat on a raised rock and swung his satchel around. From inside, he took the slightly crumpled parchment and his brush roll and spread them both out around him, pinning the paper down with fist-sized stones. The first marks went on in charcoal. Sketches of the peaks and the flash of the wide river far in the distance.

“I’ll map you all, one day,” he said to the mountains. That was his life’s ambition. To be the first person to document the range in its entirety. The fact most of the mountains were in Alliquis was of no consequence. In fact, the forthcoming campaign would give him the perfect excuse to get closer to them. The tallest peak of the range was too distant for him to make out, but one day he’d set eyes on it and record a path to its summit. He glanced up, noted the angle of a fell, and dropped his eyes back to the parchment. Half a heartbeat later, he looked back at the mountains. Had he seen movement, a shadow in the cloud?

“Come on, Ash. You’re seeing things.” Must have been a fly in the corner of his vision. Still, he kept a watch a few moments longer. When nothing moved, he went back to the sketch. The shading had to be perfect, not too much light nor too much dark. This was a cartographer’s sketch, not some drawing born of artful fancy like some of the girls in town liked to show off. Now, just how drastic was the change from shadow to deep crevice? He shaded one of the small scraps of paper that lined his satchel and held it up to the darkness. A near perfect match.

Above the paper, a section of mist billowed outward. In the swirling greyness a shape began to form. It emerged from the fog like a great bird, except it was larger than any bird he’d ever seen. At that distance the shape was only as large as his thumbnail, but given it flew over the peaks and he could still make it out, the thing must have been enormous. Larger than a house for certain, perhaps a row of houses. It spread pointed wings and blew the mist into swirling eddies with each beat. Its body was long like an adder, but it had legs too. The creature hovered there on powerful wingbeats for a few moments. He recovered his senses enough to scratch out a simple sketch of the beast before it flapped its mighty wings again and flew back into the mist. His master would never believe what he’d seen. Whatever it was, it only strengthened his resolve to journey into those mountains and document everything he found there.

He waited for a time in case the creature returned, but the clouds remained undisturbed and his legs went numb. The half-finished sketches were returned to the satchel along with the brushes, inks and charcoals. No doubt his master would be wondering where he’d got to. As he began the climb down, a snowflake landed on his cheek, melting in an instant and leaving a cold kiss on his skin.

Saphielle

King Haradrok gripped the arms of his council seat until his knuckles were white and the tendons stood out.

“My son is dead.” He spoke the words without intonation and the silence that followed was thick enough to plunge a sword into. “Dead.”

Saphielle knelt by his side. “We were ambushed by the Firthenites and they killed everyone without mercy.” The tension made her physically itch, but she resisted the urge to run her nails across her scalp. The eyes of the twenty Dains, the men and women that formed the Council of Nobles, bore into her. She’d come straight to the Nobles’ Hall, not even stopping to change and grime caked her trousers and the hem of her cloak. Her daughter was so close. As much as she needed to deliver the news, she desperately wanted to hold her girl and breathe in the sweet scent of her hair.

“Everyone except you. And how was it that you escaped?” Dain Heleste, a thin woman with sharp, pale cheekbones and straight black hair sat up in her seat, her narrow chin pointed accusingly at Saphielle.

A chair screeched across the stone slabs as a large man, Dain Baku, stood quickly. He loomed over the table with a presence only partly down to his bulk. “Heleste, hold your harsh words behind your lips. You’re throwing accusations while the Princept has just lost her brother. Show some dignity for once and keep the points-scoring to official business.”

Heleste scowled, but sank back into the chair.

“I’d like to discuss this matter with my Quarter Council,” the King said in a low voice. Three quarters of the table stood, shared nervous looks and headed for the door. Saphielle made to rise too.

“Not you.” Her father’s hand stopped her from standing.

“Heleste is right,” Haradrok said once most of the Dains had filed out. “Why did they let you escape?”

“Father, you can’t think I—”

“Answer the question.” There would be no arguing with the King’s order.

“Nobody let me escape. Barok held them off until I could get away. He said the message had to reach you.”

“And what message is that?”

“These raids may appear to be random attacks, but they’re more than that. Barok was concerned the Firthenites are clearing a path for an assault.”

Haradrok leant forward, a little of his usual hawkish concentration returning to his features. “An assault? What makes this raid any different to the dozens of others we’ve seen over the years?”

“It’s the fifth such raid this side of the Tythelands in the last few months. Each one a little further into Alliquis, a little closer to Lendas. That’s not all. Their arrows, I’ve never seen anything like it. They cut through our armour as if it was nothing but linen.” She rummaged in her pack and took out the broken arrow she’d pulled from her horse. Dried blood still coated the shaft and it rattled as she threw it onto the great oaken table. “I fear they’re planning to reclaim the Tythelands, or more.”

Baku ran a finger over the large map of the country that covered half the table. The location of the attacks were marked with ruby-like stones. “It may be they’re anticipating far more than that. Look.” He placed a handful of green stones on the parchment. “These settlements have been left alone. As High Commander, I’m embarrassed I didn’t see it sooner. They’ve been taking out potential supply sites for our forces and clearing a path.”

“There’s only one thing for it, then,” Heleste said. “We must strike them first, show the Firthenites we are still a force to be reckoned with. It is bad enough they’re preparing for war, but the murder of the Crown Princept cannot go unpunished. Must not go unpunished.” She accompanied her last sentence with a pointed look at Haradrok.

The King remained still, his fingers steepled, staring at the map.

Another Dain broke the silence. Dain Lusan had been old even when Haradrok took the throne from his mother. His white, wispy beard flowed down his chin and was tucked into his belt. When he spoke, his voice was like rustling parchment. “It’s not the attacks that worry me as much as this arrow.” He picked it up and inspected it from all angles. “How many of these did you say the enemy had?”

An image of blue streaks and flashes as the arrows cut through armour forced itself to the forefront of her mind. “Dozens.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

“Stop talking in riddles, Lusan,” Heleste snapped.

“This arrow is tipped with Moonglass. Imbued with Amul’s power in the same way Noonguard armour is enhanced with the protection of Simetra. The last time Firthenites had access to large quantities of Moonglass, they almost razed Lendas to the ground. I do not doubt this is their intention once again, but we must make sure we’re ready if indeed we are to engage them on the field.”

“My soldiers are not afraid of a shard of crystal shoved on a stick,” Baku said.

“Then they are fools. Brave fools, no doubt, but fools nonetheless.”

“There is one solution that won’t put any of our soldiers at risk,” Heleste said. “You all know of what I speak.”

Saphielle gasped. “You can’t mean…”

“It is the only way,” Heleste said. “We must show the Firthenites our might is insurmountable and they are best off remaining where they are.”

Haradrok’s left eyebrow arched.

“It is an option,” the King said.

“But it’ll kill hundreds if not thousands of people, most of them innocent civilians with no idea what their leader is doing. We can’t. Barok wouldn’t have wanted this.”

“On the contrary, your brother ensured the weapon remained operational for situations like this. I have made my decision. We shall send an envoy to Tasand and demand they withdraw their troops from the border immediately. There is also the matter of the blood price to be paid for my son’s life. If they do not oblige, then Simetra’s Final Arrow will soar across their sky and obliterate the slum they call a capital. Heleste, you will lead the delegation.”

The sly smirk that had been on Heleste’s face disappeared. “Me, your highness?”

“As my highest ranking diplomat, I feel it’s only fitting you get this honour. We must show we are taking this matter seriously. If I sent anyone else, we would not get the respect we deserve.”

A muscle at the corner of the Dain’s eye twitched. “What if they don’t give us the respect we deserve anyway? It’s not unknown for them to return an envoy’s head in a sack.”

“I’d argue that wouldn’t be the worst outcome,” Baku muttered loud enough for only Saphielle to hear and she had to hide a chuckle beneath a cough.

“I’ve thought of that, too. We’ll give them a taste of what we’ll unleash, should they not acquiesce.” He leant forwards and scoured the map. It didn’t show much of Firthen, but one town was marked prominently near the border. “We shall strike here first. Dain Baku, alert Archlucin Baylor of my intentions, she will need to prepare the ritual, then arrange for your best to collect the conduit.”

“Of course, your highness,” Baku said, although the cords of muscles standing out on his arms showed he was less than willing.

“Good, that is all.” Haradrok sank back into the seat.

Saphielle hesitated a moment while the others rose and left until it was just her and her father.

He cracked an eyelid open. “Something you want?”

“I didn’t want to leave him, but Barok told me I had to get the message back to you.”

“Yes, he always was selfless, but as the heir to the kingdom he should have had other priorities. Leave me now, I wish to grieve for my son in peace.” Saphielle bowed and turned her back on her father. The feeling he probably wished her and Barok’s places had been switched did not swiftly fade. As she closed the grand door, a quiet sob escaped behind her.

Baku lurked a little way down the hall, his large frame standing out like a Crowned Hare in a fallow field.

“How are you, Princept? I can’t tell you how sorry I am for your loss, for the country’s loss. Barok was a noble, kind-hearted man who would have made a fine King, I have no doubt. To deliver news like that can’t have been easy.” He spoke softly, as he had done to her ever since King Haradrok appointed him High Commander when she had been only six years old. The last fifteen years looked to have barely aged him.

“My brother is dead and my father blames me for it. Honestly, Baku, I wish I’d not delivered the message at all, or at least until I’d seen my daughter and washed the road from me.”

“Yes, it can be a surprisingly long trip from the Redwash. Especially if you’re avoiding the Traderoad.” Traderoad once ran directly from Lendas to Tasand before relationships between the two countries crumbled to sand, and she had indeed avoided it until she was sure the enemy hadn’t laid any further ambushes.

“Are you really going to send soldiers into Firthen?”

“I have no choice. The Final Arrow is not something I would have chosen to use, but by destroying a smaller town we might avoid targeting the capital. Only the Ilskini know how many would die then. I will talk to the King. This may be his grief talking and he’ll see sense once his head is clear, but I fear he is more stubborn than that.”

“Once my father has his mind set, Simetra herself would struggle to change it. Now, let me have a bath and hug my daughter and we’ll discuss this more another time. I may have a way of convincing him of a different strategy. Thank you, Baku, your kindness always means so much.”

“Look after yourself, your highness. If you need anything, you know where I am.” The big soldier showed a flash of pale teeth in his dark-skinned face and headed off in the direction of the Noonguard’s barracks.

For a moment, Saphielle considered going with him. The Noonguard would be mourning the loss of so many of their number and she should be with them for it. No doubt there would be reminiscing and weeping and no small amount of drinking, but her heart yearned for her child.

The walk to her quarters in the White Spire felt as long as her journey from the ruined village. She didn’t even know the damned place’s name, yet it would stay seared in her memory for the rest of her life. Eventually she reached the courtyard at the base of the tower and craned her neck to see up the tower’s smooth exterior to the top, almost two hundred feet above her.

The White Spire was built from pale stone that gleamed in the sunlight, higher than any other point of the Sunkeep. Many people said the Sunkeep had in fact been built around the spire centuries ago, and that the spire was as old as the very world itself.

She sighed and smiled. When she’d married at eighteen, she’d moved out of the royal wing of the Sunkeep and into the Spire to start her life with her husband, the son of a Dain who had aspirations above her station. A husband who swelled her belly with a child before getting himself knifed in a brothel fight. In those months of pregnancy, she’d resented the life growing inside her. Hated it as a reminder of the man who’d promised her everything and given her nothing, but after the pain and the blood and the screaming, as she held her daughter for the first time, all that had melted away.

The guards at the door snapped a smart salute as she went past them into the open, airy entrance hall. Plants grew in troughs right the way around the edge and vines climbed the walls turning the place into a garden. Among the greenery were flowers of all colours and sizes and they filled the air with heady scents. A sweeping ramp followed the curve of the wall to a mezzanine where a brook bubbled down a white stone channel and trickled into a waterfall. She took the ramp at a jog. Normally she’d take in the beauty of the place, but there was something else that demanded her attention. On the mezzanine was a wide shaft that went the full height of the tower and she stepped through a door at its base. A panel on the wall of the small space glowed with a faint green light which formed the shape of the tower a moment later. She slid a round knob to the top of the tower and held her breath. This always took her a few goes to get used when she’d been away. When she stepped out again, it was into a circular room with foliage covering the walls.

“And what time do you call this? I’ve been waiting for hours.”

A woman, roughly her own age, lounged in an alcove. Yolene Sim Manu laid a scrap of ribbon inside her book and set it down on a small side table. She stood, stretched, and opened her arms wide.

“Yolene, what are you doing here?” Saphielle rushed over and embraced her.

“I heard you were back, and I heard what happened, too. You know how fast news travels around Lendas. Are you alright? No, stupid question. Of course you’re not alright. What I mean is, is there anything I can do?”

“People keep asking me that, and I’m not sure. I don’t even know how I feel right now. All I know is that I need my little girl. Where’s Mirabelle?”

“She’s asleep. I told the nursemaid I’d look after her until you got back. Figured you’d want as few people around as possible.”

“I swear you know my mind better than I do.”

“What are best friends for? You know where I am. Come and find me when you need to talk.” She squeezed Saphielle’s hand and strode to the lift with a sympathetic glance back over her smooth shoulders. The mechanism whooshed and Saphielle was alone in her quarters. She fondled the drooping leaves of one of the plants.

“Someone needs a good water,” she murmured, “but not yet. Another hour won’t hurt.”

Mirabelle’s bedroom looked out over the forest beyond the city. Saphielle stood in the doorway for several seconds, just breathing the scent that permeated the room. It smelt of home and love and everything she’d been missing. Mirabelle’s cot sat in front of large doors, a breeze wafting between them where Yolene had left them ajar. She smiled again. Mirabelle hated sleeping with the doors closed. She’d picked that up from her mother.

Her daughter snuffled in her sleep. Golden hair spread in a halo around her head and her chubby cheeks were flushed red. The picture of innocence. Saphielle swallowed the fear her innocence would have to end sooner than it should. War, even one conducted outside of the country, was going to send its tendrils across the land and infect the lives of all of them. She gently kissed the little girl’s forehead and Mirabelle squirmed in her slumber. Saphielle scooped her up and held her small body against her breast. The warmth that flooded between them was better than anything else in the world. The girl murmured and her eyelids fluttered.

“Mummy?”

“Yes, my darling, I’m home.”

“Good. I love you, Mummy.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.” With that conversation over, Mirabelle’s lids drooped and within moments she was asleep again. Saphielle placed her back down in the cot. She’d grown even in the couple of weeks Saphielle had been away.

Saphielle knew she should have a bath drawn and change into something that was less than three quarters dirt and sweat, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave the room just yet. As she settled into a large armchair where she often read to Mirabelle, something dug into her leg.

From her pocket she pulled the Flamestone arrowhead. Her fingers found the small hole and ran around its rim. A voice at the back of her head told her to throw the arrowhead from the balcony and be done with it, for what could she gain from keeping the thing? It would only serve to remind her of that day. But that was what she wanted. A reminder of what happened, of how she felt and how she’d never let it happen again. She closed her fist around the arrowhead, sank back into the cushions and closed her eyes. A small nap wouldn’t hurt. Darkness consumed her vision and she drifted away into sleep.

On the precipice of slumber, something huge and white and winged burst into her mind.

Pel

I cracked the stiffness from my spine and rose on numb legs. Kernick had nodded off, his head lolling on his chest, and he wasn’t the only one. The little girl was curled up in her mother’s lap under a blanket and she barely stirred as she was picked up and carried towards the tents. I followed, finding a space in a half-full tent. If you wanted privacy, a Sanctuary was not for you. We’d be living on top of each other tonight, and for as many nights as it would take to reach Brightfont. It wasn’t the best, Simetra knew it smelled of sweat and bodies already, but it would keep me alive.

Once I’d burrowed into the blankets and skins, I thought about the story. Saphielle was a name children were taught as soon as they knew what words were and her legend was well known, but this rendition was different, starting before her quest. Whether it was true or not, I had no way of knowing. As for the Wyrm, it must have found some easy prey for it hadn’t returned. It was rare for a Wyrm to attack a Sanctuary but it did happen if the creature was driven by starvation. The great ballistae on the top of the walls tended to put them off.

Someone snorted across the tent, then returned to their regular snoring. The elder was right, we had a long way to go. I fell asleep to the patter of snow, clutching the breast of my coat and the object within.

The morning was a squall of activity with two feet of fresh snow and a buzz of conversation. Harunath stood by the remains of the central fire which had kept a circle of ground free from any snow which had blown in under the canopy. The canopy itself was half deconstructed with the rest quickly following.

“Need another pair of hands?” I asked.

“Rope by your feet needs coiling if you’ve got the fingers for it,” Harunath replied.

“All ten and wriggling.” I grabbed the rope and started to wrap it from palm to elbow. It was an old thing and the smell of it was a glimpse into the past. Must and pitch. Of course, you couldn’t make them like this anymore, out of plants, that is. Hemp and flax and whatever else they used. They’d all died off. A rope like this was worth a fortune and was near irreplaceable. Far better than the gut and sinew things we usually had to make do with.

“Why’s this all coming down?”

“It’s time for the Convocation of Wardens. I’ll be coming with you to Brightfont and we’ll need the extra cover,” the warden replied.

“Time for the what?”

Harunath folded a square of the canopy and tied it off with another length of rope. “Convocation. Every five years, wardens from all over convene to share knowledge. Gives us a chance to get out too. The inside of these walls can get tiresome at times.”

I nodded. Being stuck in the same place for years was something I knew all too well.

The young girl burst out of a tent nearby. She tugged on Harunath’s sleeve and waited until he looked down at her.

“Is anyone dead?” Her little face was distorted with worry.

“Dead? What do you mean?”

“The story man said someone would die. Did they?”

Harunath chuckled. “No, sweetheart. Everyone here is safe, there’s nothing to worry about.”

A smile bloomed on her face and she ran off squealing. “Mummy, Mummy. No one died.”

Harunath rolled his eyes. “Elders and their tales. You can’t believe half of what they say.”

With the camp awake, it didn’t take long to pack everything and stow it on one of the wagons.

“What’s going to pull these?” A short dark-haired man asked as he hefted a crate onto the wagon bed.

“You are, of course,” Harunath said.

And we did. After another mug of Sanctuary stew to energise us, Harunath opened the Sanctuary gates and we filed out as a column with Imogen waving us off. The snow was flat and perfect as far as I could see and even the air had less of a chill than I expected. The snow crunched under my boots with the first step I took. Overhead, the sky was ashen grey, almost white.

“Looks like it won’t snow for a while,” I said to the brown-haired man. “Name’s Pel, by the way.” If I was going to be spending the next week with these people, I might as well make an effort to learn their names.

“ I’m Modrik, and for Simetra’s sake, I hope it stays clear. Had enough of that yesterday.. What brings you to the road, Pel?”

“I have business in Brightfont. Something I–”

A Frosthawk keened somewhere ahead before I could finish. A murmur went up and I scanned the snow field. No one had forgotten the White Wyrm’s cry. Then the bird erupted into the pale sky, its white wings almost lost against the clouds.

Something dark protruded from the bank of snow the Frosthawk had flown from.

“What’s that?” Modrik whispered.

We edged closer, but with every step a ball of dread grew in my stomach. The thing in the snow was black and bent at a strange angle. An irregular red stain spread from it. We were less than twenty yards away when the object became clear.

“Legs. Human legs.” I meant to keep the thought inside my skull, but it ended up on my lips. One of the women shrieked.

“Quick, pull them out,” Harunath ordered.

I jumped to it and rushed over with Modrik and another man with a thick black beard, Voznan. They grabbed a leg each and I scrabbled at the snow with my gloved hands. Behind me, the Hunters strung their bows. The legs came free and we tumbled back. I pulled myself to my feet and looked down at the person we’d pulled from the snow.

Except it wasn’t a person. The pair of legs ended abruptly in a bloody mess of bone and flesh where the pelvis should have been.

“By the Gods.” The Sanctuary stew gurgled in my belly and threatened to show itself again. I sucked in a deep breath of cold air and waited for everything to settle.

“Who did this?” Modrik asked.

Voznan paled. “Poor bastard, almost made it to the Sanctuary.”

The truth of that hit me hard. If I’d been but an hour delayed on my journey last night, that could well have been me lying there. Well, half of me, anyway.

“I told you the cry of the Wyrm meant death, so I did.” The old storyteller pushed his way between those who’d gathered to watch. He leant on a long bone walking stick with a pattern carved up its length.

“Quiet, Rawl. This isn’t the time for your gloating. What if the creature returns for the rest of its meal?” White Wyrms weren’t known to move in what passed for daylight, but with half its kill still uneaten, the thing might make an exception.

“Then we’d best hope it prefers something already dead.” Rawl chuckled as several people pulled their coats and cloaks tighter. Like that would help.

Overhead, the Frosthawk circled, waiting for us to leave its breakfast alone. It didn’t look huge from the ground but that was one of the Frosthawk’s little quirks. Fully grown, its wingspan would reach from fingertip to fingertip if I stretched out my arms. Not mentioning its dagger-like talons or the hooked beak that would rip through you like a hot poker through ice. They could easily be the most dangerous predators in the tundra, if you ignored the Snowfiends, Ice Spiders and White Wyrms. Made you wonder why anybody travelled anywhere, really.

The Frosthawk swooped low enough over our heads I felt the whoosh of air from its wings. A Hunter loosed an arrow which streaked through the air about ten feet away from the bird.

“None o’ that, Lasarusa” Rawl barked. “Don’t you know it’s bad luck to kill a Frosthawk? You’ll doom us all before we’ve even reached the Knife Edge.”

“Quiet with your superstitions, old man. Wouldn’t be the first bird I’ve shot down and I’m still here healthy enough.” The Hunter pulled a cord from inside her cloak. Half a dozen talons hung on the string and they clacked gently when she shook it.

“Well, you’re a fool as well as an idiot.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” the girl asked before her mother could stop her.

“That depends entirely on whether you’re an idiot or not.”

Harunath cleared his throat loudly. “That’s quite enough. These leagues won’t walk themselves and every moment we stay here is a moment the Wyrm could return.”

The Hunter scowled and turned away, spitting into the snow.

Those on cart-pulling duty strained against the wood until the runners slid over the snow. The rest kept a watchful eye on ground and sky until the walls of the Sanctuary had vanished. We left the legs for the Frosthawk.

Thankfully, my prediction came true and the snow stayed stubbornly in the clouds. Fire glimmered ahead as the thin light of day drained away. The beauty of Sanctuaries was that, unless you strayed off the main routes, you were usually never more than a day from one. Had I been travelling alone, I could probably have made it to the next one, but as Harunath had reminded us all, we go at the speed of the cart. I pushed my shoulder harder against the rear of the wagon and was rewarded with a slight jolt.

It hadn’t been an arduous journey, all told, but it had been quiet. The discovery had shaken everyone more than they cared to admit, myself included. In fact, the only person who appeared totally unaffected was Michela, the young girl. She skipped around the wagon or Rawl in turn, clambering over the folded tents and pressing the storyteller to continue his tale. He hadn’t obliged.

The Sanctuary looked as if someone had half-buried an enormous egg and then smashed the top open. Against the last of the light, the bones of the shattered dome stood stark.

“A shame to see it so,” Rawl croaked beside me.

I jumped, not having heard the old man approach. “What is it?”

“Well, now it’s a Sanctuary, of course, but it used to be a temple to Koruel. Not just any temple. The temple. A physical offering to Koruel himself. See how they desecrate it.”

“I’m sure they’re just utilising what’s left of the building.”

Rawl humphed and folded his arms across his chest.

Harunath greeted the warden – Ileta – by name as we entered and she pointed us to a corner of the Sanctuary. Thankfully, there were enough tents and canopies free that ours could stay on the wagon. On the inside, the sanctuary was lit well enough by the myriad fires. The ceiling curved over my head and I had the feeling of being in a cave rather than a building, not that we could build anything like this anymore. This place was a relic as much as it was a safe haven.

Eventually, we had a few fires of our own going and the night closed in around us. Rawl sat at the one furthest from the door, still grumbling.

“Great halls, dozens of other rooms, and all they do is put us in the dome. If only—” He stopped abruptly as I sat down beside him. A dozen or so others joined us, having found the pot of Sanctuary stew. I fetched a tankard of it myself. Not as good, I thought, but wet and warm and it would do.

When I got back to the fire, Michela was clambering over Rawl’s legs as her mother desperately tried to pull her away. “I want more story,” the girl pleaded.

Rawl still wore a scowl but by the way the corners of his lips twitched, I knew it was just for show. After a minute or so, he broke. “Fine then, I’ll tell you more if only to shut you up for a time. Where were we?”

“Saphielle was having a dream,” Michela answered without hesitation.

“As yes. Well, I suppose you’d better all settle down and pin your ears back. Here’s where it gets really interesting.”

Saphielle

The great white creature reared before her. Its huge wings beat and the wind they created was like a winter storm. Its body was that of a lizard, a thousand times larger than any that ran around the palace gardens. It brought its spined head lower on a long, twisting neck to sniff the air around her. There was a cunning behind its cold blue eyes. Its lips peeled back to reveal rows of fangs and Saphielle could have sworn it smiled cruelly. Heat fled from her body faster than if she’d plunged into the Aloraski. In moments, it was all she could do to remain standing.

“So this is her mighty champion? I must say I’m disappointed.” The creature’s voice was deep and oily, though no sound came from its mouth. Instead, she heard it directly in her mind. “You smell weaker than I expected, and there doesn’t appear to be anything else about you. Maybe I should finish you off now.” It nodded at its own suggestion. Saphielle tried to unroot herself from where she stood in the dark void, empty except from herself and the creature. The fangs parted and, with a rumble like a rockslide, a stream of freezing mist billowed from the creature’s maw. Where it settled on her skin it started to burn as if it were fire rather than ice. She screamed a scream that ripped her throat and hammered nails into her ears. She knew immediately that, though only a dream, she was going to die here, and someone would find her lifeless body in the armchair. Oh, Simetra, anyone but Mirabelle. At the thought of her daughter, a warmth spread from her chest. The creature growled and suddenly there was a blinding light.

“You dare to violate this sacred plane with your corruption. Be gone, and do not return.”

Saphielle screwed her eyes shut but still the light that shone through them was almost painful. There was a growl, a flap of wings and the cold retreated. The light dimmed and a woman stood before her. Her features were kind but otherwise nondescript, neither stunningly beautiful nor unattractive. Bright eyes softened a strong jawline and her lips turned up into a half-smile.

“Saphielle Sim Donest, it is good to speak to you.”

“Who are you, and what was that thing?” Saphielle managed to squeak.

“I have many names, but the one you are most familiar with is Simetra. The Goddess of Light and Day. That creature is my adversary, and now yours too, for I have chosen you to be my champion. A great conflict will soon be upon us, one that could end your race in its entirety. That creature brings doom on its wings. You must defeat it, or the world will fall to snow and ice.“

A series of images flashed in her head. Lendas buried under snow. The forests dead and bare. A dozen more passed, too quickly to take in.

“You’ve chosen me? Why?”

“You found my token. You took it and allowed me to see who you are, the real you hidden inside yourself.”

Saphielle unfurled her fist and found the arrowhead transformed from a crude stone shape into a thing of beauty which shone with an inner light and exuded heat.

“This will not be an easy task. It will ask more of you than you could possibly imagine. Require sacrifices that, right now, you couldn’t possibly make. But you are strong and you will overcome everything the Great Wyrm throws at you. I have faith in you. All I ask is that you have faith in me.”

“How will I know what to do?”

“I will be watching and I’ll do everything I can to help. My powers to influence your world directly are not as great as they once were, and the Wyrm’s interference has reduced it further, but I will never be far away. My token is a conduit that will allow me to hear you whenever you hold it and I can talk to you face to face in this realm.

“Spread my news. Draw the creature to the peak of my mountain where my powers will be greatest. Unite your people so the harmony of man may give me the strength to banish the Great Wyrm and its threats. As one, we shall not fail.”

“But what if I can’t? My father is intent on destroying Firthen.”

“If all else fails, if the pride of humanity is too great to overcome, you must reach the summit alone. Be strong, Saphielle, be brave and be cunning. You’ll need all three to succeed.” With that, the light grew again, brighter and brighter, until it was a white so dazzling it hurt her eyes.

She blinked and the familiar surroundings of Mirabelle’s bedroom materialised. Her daughter stirred in her cot. The memory of the dream remained, if a dream it had been.

Had a Goddess really spoken to her? It sounded like a stupid question, but the transfigured arrowhead in her palm said otherwise.

Simetra’s Final Arrow would destroy any chance of the two nations working together to prevent the creature’s wrath. It needed to be stopped.

Ashuto

“Every man needs a pair of sturdy boots–” Wilden the Mapmaker thumped a pair onto the table, smudging several hundred yards of riverbank Ashuto had finished moments earlier, “–and these are from the lord of boots himself, Lucas the Last. Bought my own boots from him nigh on two decades ago, and they’re still going strong.”

They looked sturdy enough. Brown leather polished to a dull shine with thick hobnailed soles.

“Keep you on your feet in all terrain,” Wilden said. “Here, put them on. You’ll want to get used to them before you’re marching dozens of miles a day. They’ll be coming out of your allowance, mind. Good boots don’t come cheap.”

Ashuto hid the roll of his eyes. Nothing ever came free from Wilden. Even his food was accounted for and deducted from the meagre allowance Wilden permitted him. Gnat’s Arse, he’d heard people call the mapmaker when they thought he was out of earshot, on account of him being tight as one. No doubt he’d haggled Lucas down far lower than he’d have liked.

He pulled them on and winced as the tough leather scraped his skin. The boots smelled of hide glue and oil. He’d certainly need boots like this if he was to map the mountains. His old shoes simply wouldn’t hold up against the rock and snow of the slopes.

Wilden lingered by the door, arms folded as if waiting for something.

“Thank you,” Ashuto said hastily. A perceived lack of gratitude would not be well taken.

Wilden grunted and nodded, then disappeared up the stairs, presumably to find the half empty wine bottle Ashuto had discovered earlier.

With the boots on and the smudged river too far gone to rescue, Ashuto cut his losses and rose from the table. He plucked a folded parchment from between last night’s candle stub and a pewter cup half full of light ale and left the shop. For the first few steps, the boots were alright, then, as the market square came into view, a shooting pain ran up the back of his heel. He looked down and poked into the back of the boot with a finger. The sharp pain that followed was enough to make him gasp and his finger came away bloody. He’d made it all of twenty yards. Not great when Alliquis was twenty miles away. He struggled on to the market. There were four days to go until they marched out, so he’d have to get used to the bloody things sooner or later. Every morning and evening he walked the walls, staring at the peaks in an effort to spot the creature again. That frustrated his master at first, but Ashuto woke an hour earlier and went to bed close to midnight each night to ensure all the chores were completed and meals prepared on time. In the end, Wilden had run out of things to complain about and begrudgingly let him go. As yet he’d had no more sightings, but it couldn’t hide forever. He’d scour and map every yard of that range. There would be nowhere for it to hide.

Two soldiers leant against the wall of a market stall and sniggered as he hobbled past. Though they mostly kept to the camp, some of them did venture into the town where they’d been nothing but trouble in the inns and taverns, or indeed with the women.

Since the day he’d seen the winged creature, groups of soldiers had trickled into town. The bulk of them, almost ten thousand, arrived at once. A column that stretched the full length of the North Road. Half that number again had joined the soldiers’ camp since then. The camp itself spread across the sheep fields all the way up the valley and more than doubled the size of Craydon with tents. Not just soldiers, but everyone else needed to keep an army moving too. A group he’d soon find himself among.

High above, a pair of crows glided on the wind. Their rasping cries drifted down and merged with the shouts of the stallholders. The market always excited him. The smell of hot food and grease, ale and cheese. Tinkers, tailors, hatmakers and, on a stall in the far corner, Lucas the Last with his boots and shoes.

One of the regular stallholders peered out from under the wide brim of his hat. “Morning lad, what’s Gnat’s Arse sent you to get now?”

“Nothing today. Just out for a wander.”

“Best watch yourself. There’s plenty of them lot about right now.” He gestured to the soldiers, now ogling Vincent’s girl, Lauren he thought her name was, as she carried laundry back from the well. One had the bad luck to whistle and got a mouthful back. Lauren was not the sort of girl to put up with anything like that. The soldiers retreated with their tails between their legs and their cocks firmly in their trousers.

Normally he’d allow himself to be distracted by the trinkets and other wares. One stall sold nuts roasted in honey and for the most part he found them hard to resist, but there was no time for frivolity today. The messengers’ hall overlooked the market and as usual there was a queue at the door which stretched halfway along the side of the building. He joined the back of the line behind an old woman who smiled sweetly at him, though half her teeth were missing. He flashed a smile back and pulled his letter out.

Dear Ma, Pa and Kanto,

I’m going to war! But don’t worry, I won’t be doing any fighting. Wilden and I are to help map the terrain so our commanders know where to go. I don’t know which regiment I’ll be posted to, but I hope it’s the Unbreakables. They’ve never lost a battle, not in the five hundred years since they were founded. If I get posted with them then I’ll be in no danger at all.

I can’t wait until we move out. Finally we’ll take back the land stolen from Grandma and Grandpa and you can build a farm where theirs used to be. When the war is over I’ll go into the mountains and map them too.

Come and see me off, I promise I’ll make you proud.

He’d thought about mentioning the creature he’d seen, but he’d made some subtle enquiries with Wilden about flying beasts, and as far as the mapmaker was concerned, nothing larger than an eagle roosted in the peaks. He didn’t want to be known as the lad who saw things that weren’t there. Happy with the contents, he folded the letter again and returned it to his pocket.

“Your letter looks important. Are you off to show those good-for-nothing Alliqueans what for?” the little old lady asked.

“In a way, yes.”

“Good for you. It’s boys like you that make this country proud. Go ahead of me.”

Ashuto’s chest swelled with pride. A few minutes later, he was at the front of the queue.

“Where’s this letter going, and what’s the return address?” asked the attendant, a man not much older than himself with a wisp of black fuzz across his upper lip.

“Sinsu, please. Any returns to Wilden’s shop.” He handed over a few small, copper coins and the attendant scrawled something in the ledger on the desk. With that done, he hobbled back out of the messengers’ hall, thanking the old lady again.

The other boot had started to rub too. He’d have to ask Wilden if he had any advice on new shoes. If they were told to march any time soon, he’d be left behind almost instantly.

The shop door opened with a tinkle of the bell that signalled customers. Wilden was waiting in the chair behind the desk and he looked up as Ashuto entered.

“Ah, there you are. I have exciting news. Tomorrow we will meet the unit we’ve been assigned to, and in three days we start the march for Alliquis. We need to make sure we have everything we require, so you’re going to be busy sharpening quills and refilling ink pots for the next few days. None of your gallivanting off, understand?”

Ashuto nodded and almost snapped a salute as he’d seen some of the soldiers do. He wondered if he’d have to do that once they met up with their unit. The officers looked smart in their black armour. Real soldiers, not like the town guard in boiled leather and chain.

His excitement to be deployed outweighed the disappointment of his daily lookouts being curtailed. It was a day or two’s walk to the border, then they’d be in enemy territory. How long would it take before they met in battle? It would be glorious. Ranks upon ranks of soldiers, marching under the banner of Firthen with trumpets blasting and drums sounding each step. What could possibly stop them?

Saphielle

Bells called the faithful of Lendas to the temple as the sunrise spilled golden orange light across the rooftops of the city. Saphielle wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and joined the other worshipers crossing the square towards the shallow steps leading to the Temple of Simetra. Mirabelle’s soft hand was ensconced in her own and her daughter toddled along beside her, wrapped in several layers so only her rosy-cheeked face poked out. Despite the early sun there was an unseasonable chill and her breath hung in the air. The stone carvings on the temple’s tower were painted in fire and deep shadow. She’d always liked this time of the day, before the crowds emerged in their thousands and busied the streets and markets of the capital. Even at this hour, though, the temple attracted a fair number through its doors.

Light flooded in through the vast windows in the temple’s ceiling and it was easy to forget the building wasn’t open to the air. At the end of the nave, the statue of Simetra towered above. She studied the statue’s face. Its cheekbones were too high and the nose too prominent but the sculptor – she’d probably been taught their name once in a dry history lesson – had done a reasonable job at capturing the warmth in her eyes. The temple and statue had been here for centuries, only preceded by the temple at Brightfont. Had Simetra revealed herself to the artisan or had the sculptor simply carved a face he felt befitted the Goddess of Light and Day?

“Look, Mummy.” Mirabelle pointed to the coloured light on the floor cast by the stained-glass window above. Normally she’d have allowed Mirabelle to play in the light, streaming through the window but other thoughts rampaged around her head.

“It’s beautiful, my darling, now come along. The Archlucin won’t wait for us.”

In concentric circles around the base of the statue knelt a good few-hundred worshippers with a score of Lucins – the blindfolded priests of Simetra – moving among them, placing hands on heads and shoulders or offering a blessing as they went. Tradition claimed that to become a Lucin, one must sacrifice their eyes, but Saphielle was sure that practice had died out decades ago.

This was always a popular time for citizens of Lendas to visit the temple as Archlucin Baylor herself led the venerations more often than not, instead of other senior Lucins. The Archlucin herself stood between Simetra’s great stone legs in silent prayer, her hands upheld and lips moving. She wore a simple orange robe and blindfold. If Saphielle didn’t know who she was, she could easily have confused Baylor for the lowliest of Lucins for there was no gold thread sewn into her robe, nor did she wear a chain of office. The only sign Baylor was anything more than a novice was the ring on her right index finger inlaid with a flamestone.

Saphielle took her place in front of the Archlucin in the section reserved for the royal family and settled Mirabelle beside her. It had been many years since she’d seen her father here for anything other than holy days. Barok had been more devout, attending the temple at least once a week. As for herself, she’d never put much stock into temple worship, or Simetra for that matter. She’d seen enough hardship, both her own and others’, to know Simetra did not intervene with the lives of humans. Until she’d spoken to her, of course. Other than her naming ceremony, Mirabelle had never set foot in the sept.

People whispered behind her, snatches of hushed conversation about the massacre in the Oldgrove. A subject she wished she could forget but one that permeated every other thought. She closed her eyes and did her best to ignore it all.

“Princept Saphielle, it is an honour to see you here. May Simetra bestow on you both her blessings and may her light prove a salve for your wounds.” Saphielle jerked her head up. Archlucin Baylor had descended noiselessly and stood before her, her face turned in Saphielle’s general direction. How the priestess knew anyone was there, let alone her specifically was a mystery. Perhaps she really did see through Simetra’s eyes.

“Thank you, Archlucin. Your words bring peace.”

Baylor inclined her head and returned to the foot of the statue. “Welcome, on this holy day. May the light of the Goddess bathe us and birth us anew.”

“The light of the Goddess,” the congregation responded.

The Archlucin continued in a similar vein. That was one of the reasons Saphielle had stopped attending the temple regularly. The hypocrisy with which the previous incumbent, Archlucin Swanston, had preached made her insides crawl. He’d lived in a mansion within the Sunkeep and spoke about humility and charity all while he drank wine worth more per bottle than most of the citizens in the temple would earn in a year. Baylor was better. She, at least, practised what she preached. For the most part, anyway. She was still willing to kill innocent people with a weapon powerful enough to raze a town. Though Simetra gave her name to the weapon, the decisions when to use it and where to target sat firmly with the King.

Baylor eventually finished her sermon and the sept fell silent. This was why Saphielle had come. There was nothing Archlucin Baylor could tell her that Simetra herself couldn’t, but finding a moment to speak to the priestess alone was a hard task. The Archlucin descended the shallow steps to stand before her once more. Saphielle bowed her head and allowed the woman to place her hand on her forehead.

“My deepest condolences for the loss of your brother. His absence is felt keenly by us all,” Baylor said in a hushed voice.

“Barok did not have to die in vain,” she replied. “He died trying to prevent an all-out war between Alliquis and Firthen. You can honour his memory by refusing to participate in the heinous act my father wishes done.”

Baylor’s forehead furrowed. “My child, I appreciate your concern. What Princept Barok did was an inspiration to us all and his name will live long in our collective memory. However, we cannot ignore what has been done to us. If a dog bites a child, surely it is best for the animal to be put down.”

“A single creature, maybe, but not every one of its breed. Simetra teaches us forgiveness is as powerful, if not more so, than hatred and jealousy. Our divisions prevent us from seeing the greater dangers that lie outside our mortal struggles.” Saphielle could not bring herself to confide in the Archlucin what Simetra had shown her, certainly not with so many others around. She would have to rely on metaphor to make her point. Mirabelle tugged on her sleeve.

“I’m hungry, Mummy.”

Baylor smiled a fake smile. “Now is not the time to be having this discussion. Come and find me later and I will be happy to delve into the finer points of theological debate and blasphemy.” Baylor made to move on to the person next to her, a Dain whom Saphielle recognised but whose name escaped her. Saphielle grabbed the Archlucin’s wrist.

“I am not done with this conversation.” A few faces turned towards them but looked away as they caught Saphielle’s eye. “Innocent people are going to die if you allow my father to employ the Final Arrow. It’s final for a reason. It’s a last resort for when we have no other choice. There is always a choice. Refuse to lead the ritual, prohibit your Lucins from participating and it cannot happen. You speak of blasphemy, is this not it? Taking the gifts of our Goddess and twisting them for our own purposes?”

Baylor pulled her arm from Saphielle’s grasp and brushed the creases from her sleeve.

“There are times where more drastic action is required. As a surgeon must cut out the rot to save the leg, so must we burn away heresy and malice for the good of our people. The surgeon may have to remove healthy tissue to ensure every last bit of blight is excised. As difficult a course of action as it may be, it is our duty before Simetra to do the same. Those guiltless souls will be honoured on the Sunlit Pastures of Caenyss. For what is life, but a journey to that which lies beyond?”

“You talk in metaphors. I speak in blood. I will not allow you to use that weapon.” She was on her feet, face an inch away from Baylor’s. Her spit speckled the Archlucin’s cheeks. A rage burnt inside her, as if Simetra herself had kindled it. How could this woman of peace not realise what she was doing? Simetra brought life, she didn’t strip it away outside of the natural order. Why did her highest priest not understand?

“That is not your decision to make, Princept. I suggest you hurry up and learn your place and what does or doesn’t concern you.” Baylor spoke with ice on her tongue which infuriated Saphielle more than if she’d shouted back. The entire congregation had given up the pretence of ignoring them and over a hundred pairs of eyes stared at them.

“Look at what you’re doing, Princept. Your brother would have known this is the correct course of action. He would be disappointed in you.”

Saphielle’s palm hit Baylor’s cheek with a sharp crack that echoed off the walls of the sept.

“How dare you claim to know what Barok would have thought? He would have been appalled that you were considering something so cowardly. Even if Barok thought war was the right course of action, he would have been on the front line, not skulking back here like a craven. Know this, Archlucin, I will do whatever it takes to stop you.”

She swept Mirabelle up and turned to leave, but came face to face with a man dressed in black with a silver crook embroidered onto the breast. His dank hair hung loosely over a sallow face. He placed a strong hand on her upper arm.

“I think we ought to talk about this somewhere else, don’t you?”

Haradrok

King Haradrok held the pouch of dirt almost reverently. He pushed open a pair of great oaken doors and strode into the Sept of Simetra. Light flooded in from each of the great windows in the vaulted ceiling, but the bright light only served to cast darker shadows at the edges of the temple. Lucins, the blindfolded priests of Simetra, skulked between the columns which held the ceiling up. Why anyone would intentionally rob themselves of sight was something he’d never understand.

At the far end, bathed in light, stood the idol of Simetra. Twenty-three feet tall and sculpted from the same stone as the White Spire. A small number of worshippers prayed on their knees before the statue. Haradrok wondered what pathetic needs they wanted provided. A figure moved among them, touching a head here and a shoulder there. Archlucin Baylor was one of those perennially frustrating clergyfolk whose strength of belief actually won out over influences. She liked to convince people that under her blindfold was the ruin of her eyes. For how better to see the true light of Simetra than to deny oneself the light of this world. Or so she said. The previous Archlucin had been more approachable. More happy to align the guidance of Simetra to the visions of the crown for a modest charitable donation and a bottle of fortified garban. Baylor had to be convinced in other ways.

“Leave us,” he barked at the worshippers. For a moment they all looked stunned to be in the company of the Archlucin and the king. “Now.” They scrambled up and tried to maintain a dignified skip down the nave while glancing back at the two most powerful people in the country.

“Archlucin, the final piece of the ritual has arrived. We must gather the initiated and show our enemy that an attack on Simetra’s sacred ground cannot be tolerated.” That a temple had fallen had been something of a gift from the Goddess. It allowed him to substitute the loss that burnt in his chest, the grief which cast a black cloud over him, with something the Lucin would understand. It was all about levers, and the Archlucin’s was piety.

“The heathens must be shown the error of their beliefs. Though Amul is a faithful servant of Simetra, it is the highest form of blasphemy to promote him above the Goddess of Light.”

Haradrok nodded along. He’d heard this sermon half a dozen times before. He highly doubted that the divines would trouble themselves with who worshipped whom. That was if they even existed at all.

“They must, and without delay.” Heleste had left that morning with a full strength escort of a hundred soldiers. Baku had offered to send some of his Noonguard as bodyguards, but if the Firthenites were too foolish to heed their warnings then he’d need his best soldiers here. He’d already seen the reports of the army gathering outside Craydon, the target of today’s ritual, and he needed to act quickly to dissuade Queen Palona of the notion. There was always a chance Palona would act foolishly and retaliate for the loss of the town with an attack on his delegation instead. Heleste was a decent enough Dain. Easy to control when it mattered but there were times when she was too outspoken. Simetra only knew how often he’d wanted to cast her in chains for a little bit, if only to get some quiet. The same went for the Archlucin as well.

“My acolytes are prepared. I shall send for them now and the ritual can begin in an hour.”

“Good. I’ve posted soldiers on the doors to ensure we remain undisturbed. Clear the rest of the temple before we begin. I don’t need to tell you that this ritual is to be kept only to the initiated.”

“Of course, your highness. For now, you may make use of the vestry and I will call for you when everyone has arrived.”

Haradrok didn’t like the way Baylor made it sound like she was in charge and he was only there at her behest, but he let it pass, this time. He needed to keep the cleric on his side at least until the ritual was complete. With a gracious smile, he nodded and the Archlucin led him through a narrow doorway and into a small chamber with a cold fireplace in one wall. The light was dimmer here with only two small windows to the outside. Baylor pulled a chair out from beneath a small table covered in religious books and texts.

“May I offer you refreshment, your highness? Our fare is humble, but I find an overindulgence of the riches of this life makes it hard to appreciate what is truly good.”

Haradrok ground his teeth but managed to keep the smile on his face. Perennially frustrating, indeed. “Thank you.”

The Archlucin glided off to an alcove opposite the fireplace and returned presently with water and bread. Haradrok took it and tried not to recall the fine pies and bottles of mead he’d shared in this very room with the previous Archlucin. He’d had a fire burning too, and it wasn’t unusual for him to usher an attractive young lady or two out before welcoming Haradrok in. A much more reasonable state of affairs.

The Archlucin had reached the door when he called after her.

“How many initiated do we currently have?”

“Eight, your highness, with another three who’ve almost completed their ministry.”

“Good. Good. Prepare them and alert me when the ritual can begin.”

Baylor nodded serenely and closed the door behind her. Once she’d gone, Haradrok took a few bites of the bread and discarded the rest under a wardrobe. The water went into the empty grate. He had, of course, heard the reports of his daughter’s actions that morning. The fact he’d already dispatched Dain Forbes to round Saphielle up and keep her out of the way mattered little. Did he truly believe she had colluded with Firthen? No, but as with it all, his beloved son’s death was the cover for his ambition. Saphielle was as stubborn as Barok, but without the subtlety he’d possessed, and there was no love lost between them. The last thing he needed was a meddlesome daughter when he was trying to win a war.

He positioned himself before a small door tucked away in a corner of the room. It was plain and so innocuous it could have been a broom cupboard. The only unusual thing about it was it appeared to lack either latch or lock. From around his neck, Haradrok took a key of blackened iron and tapped the door in its centre. A moment later and the glamour faded to reveal a reinforced iron door. He slotted the key into a hole and it turned smoothly, unlocking with a sharp click. There was no resistance to the mechanism which was over two-hundred years old. It had been well maintained in that time.

There were two things inside. The first was a full-length robe of material the same colour as a bloody sunset. Haradrok lifted it from its hook and pulled it around his shoulders. It smelled musty, which was no surprise. Despite Haradrok inspecting the cupboard once a year, every year since he’d been crowned, he’d never had to put the robe on. There was only one instance in which the robe was to be worn. A terrible instance, but one worthy of the murder of his son. He drew the hood over his head and set his jaw into a grim smile.

That left one thing. A five-foot tall staff, carved into a spiral, with a shallow dish on the top and a pure, colourless crystal jutting from the bowl. If you believed the legends, it was Simetra’s very own staff from the days the Goddesses and Gods roamed the world. Whatever its provenance, it was the conduit through which the Final Arrow was loosed and destruction delivered to the Firthenites. He took it down, the weight unfamiliar in his hand. So much power in such a small thing.

The door opened behind him and the Archlucin returned. She too had changed into a similar robe to he, though the Archlucin’s was a deep blue like a cloudless night.

“Everything is ready, your highness.”

“Good, we have no time to waste.” He followed her out and the butt of the staff clacked on the stone floor with every stride.

They gathered before Simetra’s statue. Seven other figures in black robes formed a circle around a single gold-cloaked Lucin. The central Lucin’s robe glittered as the torchlight picked out the threads of gold woven through the material. All eight of them turned and bowed their heads as Haradrok and Baylor approached. Incense smoke gave the air the scent of the plants and resins necessary for the ritual. The only sounds were their footsteps, the tap of the staff and his own blood pounding in his ears.

“Initiates, it is with a heavy heart I have summoned you all. The Firthenites have struck at our country and our Goddess and we must show them we cannot be intimidated. This ritual, though it may seem harsh, will prevent war between our two nations. Hold your heads high and know that you’re doing Simetra’s work.”

“All praise to Simetra,” the Lucins replied.

“If we are all present, let us begin.” He crossed the line of the circle drawn in ash and handed the staff to the Lucin, who took it with both hands. Their knuckles – for he couldn’t tell if the Lucin was man or woman with the hood over their face – were white with the knowledge of what was to come.

“Your faith will be well rewarded,” Haradrok said as he took the pouch from inside his robe and emptied the soil into the bowl at the top of the staff.

“I have pledged my life to the Goddess,” the Lucin replied in a tense voice.

Haradrok patted their shoulder and took his place in the outer circle. He felt a crick in his knee as he planted his feet shoulder-width apart and discreetly shook it out. That was the trouble with getting older. His mind was as sharp as it had ever been but, since his fiftieth year, his body had been giving him ever more grief. No matter. What happened next did not require physical strength.

He lifted his arms high and started to chant a low, haunting tune. One by one around the circle, the Lucins joined their voices to his until they formed a wall of sound.

The Archlucin’s voice cut through the song. “Simetra, lend us your mighty bow so that with its power you may bring salvation to us, your people. Nock its string with sunlight. Provide us an arrow fletched with your love, guided by your wisdom and tipped with your unmatchable strength. Help us draw to the extent of your patience and loose your final arrow so that your enemies must fall and be in awe of your being.” She finished and lent her voice to the song. With the final thread in place, the sept began to brighten. Almost imperceptibly at first, the noon sun taking a richer quality. Then becoming greater in its intensity, filling the dome of the ceiling and banishing the shadows.

Haradrok thanked the long hood that covered his face. Without it, he knew he could have gone blind. Maybe that was why the Lucins covered their eyes in the first place and the rest had simply followed.

Despite the light, the temperature of the sept dropped, almost as if the light was sucking the life from everything it touched. When the light was bright enough to be painful even behind his closed eyes it suddenly faded and Haradrok felt safe enough to risk a look. The song nearly caught in his throat as he took in what was happening.

The sunlight had coalesced into a writhing ball of golden tentacles sitting the open palm of Simetra’s chiselled hand. It hissed and fizzed and spat as it curled around itself like a barrel of serpents. Then the tendrils detached and snaked through the air towards them. It was all he could do not to run as one squirming finger closed the space to him in the blink of an eye. It leapt across the last few yards and where it touched his chest a searing pain registered. From the grunts of the Lucins either side of him, they felt the same thing. The stench of burning hair reached his nostrils.

Haradrok stopped the chanting and, as though he were fighting against the Whiterush, lowered his arms so they pointed towards the gold-cloaked Lucin. The Lucin still held the staff in both hands, planted on the floor before them. Their body was rigid and Haradrok knew that even if they had wanted to move, they’d be unable to.

When the burning became agony, a rushing sensation raced down his arms and the light leapt from his hands. Nine beams struck the gold-cloaked Lucin with a noise like shattering glass. The beams continued unabated for what felt like an hour but was probably only twenty heartbeats. The crystal in the staff started to glow and the light grew and grew, surpassing the intensity of the light before as if the sun itself had fallen into the temple. Haradrok screwed his eyes shut but the brightness still hurt and he could see the veins in his eyelids. There was a rush like a river and once again he dared to look. This was his moment – the moment the Firthenites began to realised the full gravity of what they’d done – and he wasn’t going to miss it. A column of light as wide as a tree trunk issued from the crystal and punched through the temple’s glass ceiling. The light had a core of white before fading to blazing yellow and sputtering orange at the edges.

He felt the immense power and for that second he understood just how insignificant a single life was, unless, of course, that life was his son’s. Then the beams of light cut off and the column vanished into the sky as if it really were an arrow loosed from an enormous bow.

A ghost of the light danced under the skin of the Lucin’s exposed hands and lit the inside of the hood with a faint glow. The Lucin’s knees buckled and they collapsed into a shapeless heap beneath their cloak. That was it. No turning back now. Either Firthen would surrender in the face of the sheer power streaking through the heavens towards them, or it would be a war to end all wars.

The other Lucins rushed to their fallen colleague and arranged them in some modicum of decency. They’d receive a full ceremonial burial and be the first name entered into the Annals of the Divine for two centuries. There’d probably be a statue of them at some point, too, when the Archlucin decided she had a surplus of charity.

“We’ve struck a mighty blow for the Goddess,” Archlucin Baylor said beside him. He’d been concentrating on the body now having the rites of the dead being intoned over it that he hadn’t heard her approach. Another of her frustrating traits. At least with her predecessor you’d know where he was from the panting.

“That we have. Let’s hope they take this warning for what it is and realise they have no hope. Even if they are heathens, I’m sure Simetra would not want to see them slaughtered unnecessarily.”

“On the contrary. Our Goddess will relish the demise of the unfaithful. Have no fear, your highness, we are doing divine work.”

He quite frankly didn’t care how many died. He’d slaughter every last one of them if that would bring his son back, but he knew it wouldn’t. Instead, he’d settle for destroying as many as possible in the hope it soothed his burning grief.

Ashuto

Ashuto scratched an itch under the strap of his satchel which had been building for the last half an hour as sweat ran down his spine and pooled in the hollow of his back. His family had received the letter were in the front row waving flags as the army marched off. There had even been a glimmer of a tear in his father’s eye. The column had left Craydon at noon and set out across the fields towards Alliquis, churning the pastures into a quagmire so that by the time Ashuto and Wilden started moving halfway down the column they were fighting through ankle-deep mud. Craydon was still a smudge in the distance and he fancied he could see the glittering snake of the rearguard stretching right back to it. Now the whole host of soldiers was on the move, he was in awe of what fifteen thousand humans looked like.

“Why aren’t we up there with the third?” Ashuto asked his master. They’d been assigned to the Third Cavalry Division, or the Outriders as they were known by the army regulars. It had taken Ashuto three days to get over his disappointment at not being placed with the Unbreakables, but once Wilden had explained who the Outriders were and what they did, that rush of excitement had returned.

“We’re still on home ground, lad. Once we reach the border I’m sure they’ll call us up. Right now, though, we’d just get in the way. Have no fear, our division will be the first into the Tythelands and over the river. You won’t miss any of that.”

Ashuto supposed that was right. After all, the Outriders were the scouts, ranging up to fifty miles ahead of the main column and reporting back to Commander Paraneth himself. And it would be Ashuto’s job to lock all that information away in a map. He grinned. They could make a real difference to the war. The more accurate the map, the better idea the commander would have of what lay before them and where the strategic locations were situated.

Ahead, the dark outline of the mountains jutted from the horizon, sloping down to the east where they gave way to fifty miles of flatter land before reaching the sea. Something glimmered between the peaks and he stared at the place it had just been, praying for another glimpse of the creature. For a few heartbeats there was nothing, and he began to worry again that he was seeing things, but a moment later it reemerged over the mountains.

“What’s that?” one of the soldiers asked, pointing. Every head looked up and there was a wave of gasps and muttering.

“That’s a divine arrow,” Wilden said. “My father told me about them. It means Amul and Simetra are fighting and that’s one of the Sun Goddess’ arrows gone astray. It’s nothing to worry about.”

Ashuto squinted at the light. “Are you sure? It looks like it’s getting closer.”

“It can’t be,” Wilden scoffed, “it’s in the heavens.”

“I heard some soldiers saying that Simetra is angry at us for worshipping Amul.” The notion was strange to Ashuto. Simetra was an important deity, of course, what with helping plants to grow and keeping the days warm, but daytime was safe and Amul was the shield in the night. The Protector.

“Keep your eyes forward, you cretins.” An officer rode up beside them, red in the face and scowling. “What’s up there that could possibly distract trained soldiers from their given orders?”

Ashuto half raised a hand to point out the burning object, but the officer waved him away. “If it’s not Simetra’s perky tits, then I don’t want to know. The next section that slows our pace to gawp at something will be given the lash. Understood?”

A chorus of “Yes, sir!” followed the officer’s words. He nodded and rode on a hundred paces or so, no doubt to do it all again.

The mood of the column petered out after their dressing down, and they marched in near silence. Despite the officer’s threats, Ashuto couldn’t help but glance up every few minutes. Whatever the thing was, it was getting brighter and larger and closer. If he had to guess, he’d have said it would only be another hour until it was directly overhead. If only he could stop and sketch it. Make a few notes. He’d do it if he found time once they’d struck camp though it wasn’t the same as an account made in the moment. That was like walking somewhere and mapping it once you were sitting in front of the fire at home. It lost something.

In one of the rare moments he wasn’t looking at or thinking about the burning object above them, he stood as tall as he could and tried to spy the border. Word had spread that they were going to make camp on their side of the Tythelands before setting foot into enemy territory on the morrow. The rational part of him prayed their way would be clear, but a small bit was excited to watch their army roll over anything in their path. He could hear his father’s complaints in his mind. That Alliquis had never treated them fairly, that they demanded a tribute too steep and, when Firthen retaliated, they had seized the Tythelands. Even now they launched attacks across the border. More than once the town bells had sounded, warning the people of nearby raiders. He didn’t know how true it all was – Father did have a penchant for exaggeration – but for an army of this size to have been called together meant those in charge were fed up with it. Now those bastards were going to get what they deserved.

“Halt!” The order came rippling down the column. Already they’d passed three or four carts who’d veered off what passed for a road into the bog either side of it. Add over ten thousand people looking directly up and the whole column would have crashed into itself. Ashuto clambered onto a stricken cart. The light was bright enough he had to squint to see it comfortably and sparks fell off as it flew, bursting into glittering motes that drifted through the air, disappearing before they reached the ground. The most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. If that wasn’t a sign the Goddesses and Gods were on their side, he didn’t know what was.

Even Wilden looked impressed and he usually found fault in everything.

“Alright, you’ve had your fun now. Get moving again or you’ll be pitching camp in the dark.” The officer was back on his horse, as red faced as before with flecks of spittle following each command. Ashuto clambered down, wincing as a splinter jabbed into his palm. He half-jogged over to Wilden.

“Do you think we’ll ever see something like that again?” he asked, picking at the small shard of wood under his skin.

“Who knows, boy, who knows? I’ve seen things only sailors could match, but never have I seen anything quite like that.” The mapmaker looked back over Ashuto’s head and there appeared to be a glint in the corner of his eye. He wasn’t the only one still looking, either. Every few moments a black helmet would turn and reveal a tanned face full of wonder. Then the looks on the faces started to change, to confusion at first, then concern and fear.

“By Amul’s sweat and blood,” Wilden muttered, hand pressed to his cheek. “It’s heading for Craydon.”

Ashuto craned his neck and stood as high as he could to see over the heads of the soldiers. The fire was still in sight, but far lower now than it had been above them. A rock dropped into the pit of his stomach. It was. Even though he couldn’t see the town, he knew where it would be, and the trajectory the object was taking would land it right in the market square. The same square his parents had watched him march out of not half a day ago.

“My family is in there.” He hadn’t meant to say it but the words slipped out. Wilden’s hand came to rest on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. In all the years Ashuto had been apprenticed to him, that was the most intentional contact they’d shared. Everyone had now turned again to look back towards Craydon. A voice in the back of his head told him to run home and see for certain, but that couldn’t happen. Even if he wasn’t brought up for desertion, his one chance at seeing something further than the ridge would have gone.

The flame, curse rather than blessing, fell too low and all that was left was its light on the underside of the greying clouds. The horizon grew bright and the light drove hot needles into his eyes. Ashuto wanted to look away but the terrible spectacle captured his body and held it firm, forcing him to take it in.

The light dimmed as swiftly as it had appeared and left dark spots dancing in his vision. Flames boiled where the faint suggestion of Craydon had been. How big must they have been to be visible in daylight and at that distance? How hot? A rumble like an avalanche thundered across the pastures, bringing with it a wind that whipped his face and blew dust into his eyes. Black, swirling smoke rose into the sky above what was left of Craydon and squatted there like a flock of crows. How could anyone have survived that?

Ashuto stammered. He wanted to say something, anything, but his mind simply couldn’t process what he’d seen and the words refused to come. His knees wobbled and he held on to Wilden’s coat to stop himself collapsing. In the end it didn’t matter. The mapmaker sank to his knees, his face white and his eyes like coins, and Ashuto went with him. Dampness soaked into his trousers and prickled the corners of his eyes.

Wilden pulled him close. Held him as silent tears coursed down both their cheeks. A keening cry of despair came from down the column and it was picked up by others until all Ashuto could hear was that shrill funeral wail.

He closed his eyes and let grief consume him.

Pel

I woke in the night with my bladder screaming. After Rawl had finished for the night, someone had tapped a cask of frostberry wine which flowed merrily until gone midnight. Now it needed somewhere to go.

I extracted myself from my bedding and, trying not to trip over Modrik or Voznan, ducked outside. A few orange embers still glowed but there were no further signs of life. A gust swept through the camp and I shivered. No point hanging around longer than necessary. I trotted halfway across the camp to the latrine dug against the side of the wall and loosened the string of my trousers. Piss steamed as it hit the cold stone. It would be frozen in moments. I shook the last drips off, replaced myself and was about to return to the tent when I spotted movement. Someone skulked in the shadows, moving slowly towards the tents, head swivelling every few seconds. I strained my eyes in the darkness, but couldn’t make out any features before I lost them amongst the tents. Another nighttime pisser who couldn’t be bothered making the trip to the latrine? Or something more sinister? Diligence saved lives and it couldn’t hurt to check.

Wind had filled in the evening’s footprints with loose snow and their tracks were clear as meltwater. They ran along the wall for a few dozen yards before stopping at an open door. I was sure it hadn’t been there earlier. Inside it was as black as charcoal.

I stepped through anyway and a cold draft brushed my cheek. Was there a faint light away to the right, or was it my eyes playing tricks? A few quick blinks but the light, little more than an ashen smudge, remained. Part of me wanted to investigate, but the rational part knew it was foolish. There could be anything down there, any number of things to trip over or fall down, and I couldn’t risk injuring myself on some silly whim. Not when I had to reach Brightfont. I turned and found a torch in a bracket beside the door. The bracket on the other side was empty. Now that changed things. I took my flint and steel from the pouch on my belt and struck a spark.

Bare stone stretched away either side. On my left were a handful of old sacks, making the most of the only storage not directly exposed to the sky. I didn’t stop to find out what was inside. I wasn’t here to steal what wasn’t mine. Apart from a drift built up around the entrance, the passage was clear of snow and my footsteps rang on the walls as I made my way towards the light.

“This used to be a temple?” I whispered, my voice loud in the silence. After a short distance, the torchlight fell on a flight of stone stairs leading down in a curve which I figured followed the sweep of the dome. Eventually, I reached level ground. Again, the walls were unadorned and the floor plain stone slabs and still the passage went on. The air was mustier despite the cold. Clearly few people had been down here recently. How big was this place? Visions of getting myself lost in a vast subterranean labyrinth sprang to mind and I faltered. There wouldn’t be much of a search party if I didn’t turn up in the morning. Most would assume I simply slipped away during the night. Wouldn’t be the first to do so, nor the last. I was about to leave when I saw it.

Not wood or iron, but a metal I didn’t recognise, and it was huge. As big as the doors of Harunath’s Sanctuary’s doors. A relief of a bird, its wings stretched wider than I was tall, and on its tail feathers was an eye-shaped marking. Not a bird I knew, so this must have been from Before. I took it in for a few moments until curiosity got the better of me.

Something tangled my feet and I nearly tripped. I’d been too engrossed in the detail of the wall that I’d not noticed what was on the ground. I extracted an extinguished torch from between my ankles. The head was still warm. My own torch expelled the darkness only so far and the hairs on my neck prickled.

Something or someone was watching me and I knew it.

I tucked the torch into my belt. If I had to run, I’d rather be the only one that could see. My willingness to explore fell away like water between my fingers. Whatever I’d come across was incredible, but not worth getting myself killed over. I took one last look at the bird. A piece of artwork impossible now to create. For a moment, I mourned all we had lost. Not just our future, but our past too. The wonders that had existed which would never exist again.

A sparkle on the ground caught my eye where the torch had been. Gold glinted in the warm light. I picked it up and felt its weight. A solid piece of jewellery on a thick chain. Something else we could not recreate anymore. I pocketed the necklace. Something like that would be worth a fair amount once we reached Brightfont and it would be silly to leave it here.

With a final look around, I rubbed the back of my neck and returned the way I’d come. Unseen eyes bored into my back. I half expected something sharper and more final to follow. It was as if I’d seen something no human was allowed to. A relic of a time gone by.

After a while, the burning in my calves from the stairs became too much and I needed to pause. I could have sworn there were fewer stairs on the way down. A cold draft caused me to shiver. Thank whichever Ilskini still remained, the exit was close.

Air rushed past my face and something soft brushed my cheek. I dropped the torch which bounced and rolled away down the stairs. The flame went out and I was plunged into utter darkness. This had to be the end for me. Something monstrous had made the ruins of Koruel’s temple beneath the sanctuary its lair and I had unwittingly wandered straight into it, offering myself up on a platter. I waited for the killing strike of fang or claw or sting, but it never came. After a moment of standing there like an idiot, I focused on my breathing to calm my racing heart. A near-death experience – even one in my imagination only – was more than enough to get it all pumping. I blindly climbed the last of the stairs and almost cheered as grey dawn light spilled in through the open door I’d entered from. As I stepped out, I hit something firm and bounced off.

Ileta’s voice came through the night as the warden approached “So, here’s the thief. Caught you skulking around, haven’t we? Do you know what I do to thieves in my Sanctuary?”

“Hold on, I think you’re mistaken here. I haven’t stolen anything,” I protested.

“A likely story. You’ll–”

Harunath cut her off. “Why don’t you explain to Pel what’s happened? He may have a valid explanation for his presence here.” I smiled my thanks at the warden, but his face said: ‘Maybe Isobel was right about you.’

Ileta lunged and pushed me back against the wall with enough force to knock the wind from my lungs. She drew a blade and pressed it to my throat. “There I was, fast asleep, when a cold breeze woke me. Odd, considering the window stays shut, latched and barred. What did I see but the shutters hanging open and the curtain flapping in a freezing draught. That’s not all though. No. The ceremonial chain of office for this Sanctuary was gone, taken from under lock and key beneath my very nose. I grab Harunath here and tell him what’s happened, then we come out to have a look around. Maybe the thief left a clue. I wasn’t expecting to catch them red-handed, but here we are.” The tip of her dagger tickled my chin.

“I’ve not taken anything, honestly. I needed to piss and spotted someone acting oddly so I followed them here.”

“Of course you did. Put the blame on someone else. You’re going to tell me you don’t know who it was, aren’t you?”

“Well, I couldn’t see their face–”

“I told you!”

“But I went all the way down to the giant bird relief and found this. I assume it’s your missing chain?” I pulled it out and held it in front of her face.

She snatched it and barked a harsh laugh, lowering the dagger. “I need no more proof to throw you out of my Sanctuary, but I’ll be kind. Gather your belongings, you leave at dawn. Alone.”

“You can’t, I’ve not done anything.” I struggled to keep the panic from my voice. Exile out here was as good as a death sentence.

“You had my chain in your possession and you broke into my store room, no doubt to try and steal more. Wait, did you say you went down? That’s not possible.” She shoved past me and went inside, taking the lantern with her.

A drop of blood trickled down my neck where the knife had pricked my skin.

Ileta emerged a moment later and whispered urgently in Harunath’s ear. He frowned and cleared his throat. “Get the fires lit, seeing as you’re awake. You’ll all need something hot in you, there’s heavy snow on the way.”

“You mean you’re not throwing me out?”

“Not this time. Consider yourself lucky, but if you put a single toe out of line again you’ll be on your own. Understood?” Harunath said.

“Loud and clear.”

I leant against the wall, catching my breath until the two wardens left, and thanked whoever was watching over me for the reprieve. Something drifted down and landed in the snow at my feet. A black feather, but when I picked it up a myriad of greens and blues ran over its surface. I turned my eyes skyward to see what animal had shed it, for I’d never seen a feather like it.

A dark smudge streaked overhead before disappearing into the night. Had that been real, or had everything I’d seen that night come from a sleep-addled mind? I shook my head and ground my palms against my eyes. The lack of sleep would be an issue, but it was a damn sight better than having my throat cut by a mad warden and right now I had to take what bones I was thrown.

I kept my head down for the rest of the morning, making sure the fire stayed hot enough to warm the vat of stew. Some of the Hunters had managed kills the day before and we cooked the last of that meat too. Stew was all well and good, but sometimes you just needed something to get your teeth into. Once everyone was fed, we got Ileta’s tents down. She was to travel with us to the Convocation and our numbers swelled with those who’d been here when we arrived.

One amongst them was the person I’d seen last night. The person who had almost got me banished from the caravan, though they weren’t to know it. I vowed to discover who it was by the time we reached Brightfont, despite Ileta’s suspicious gaze.

“This is no weather to be walking in,” Rawl complained from the front of the wagon.

“It is if we want to reach Brightfont before the convocation,” Harunath replied. “If you want to wait out the snow here, feel free, but you’ll be waiting a few days and you’ll be doing it on your own.”

Rawl muttered something rude. He had a point, though. Snow fell in sheets. I could barely see the end of my nose. Still, we had somewhere to be and time would not wait for us. As far as I was concerned, the sooner we reached Brightfont, the better.

We travelled at a crawl. Those at the front hauled on the ropes pulling the two wagons and those behind pushed. Before the snows, humans used animals to do the heavy drawing, something I found fascinating. Try to employ any of the creatures that roamed the snow plains these days and you would end up with the wagon destroyed and those travelling with it eaten. Occasionally Rawl would pipe up with some complaint or other from under his blankets on the back of the wagon but most of his words were whipped away by the swirling winds. After a couple of hours, I shed the loops of rope around my shoulders and passed them to Modrik. All I wanted was to curl up in the snow and sleep, but if I did, I’d never wake. Instead, I dropped to the back of the wagon and braced myself against it. I glanced at the second cart and found Ileta glaring at me. I wouldn’t have minded so much if I’d actually done something. I smiled back and her scowl deepened.

The opportunity for talk was limited to single words, swiftly taken between gusts of frigid, snow-laden wind. Any information would have to be gathered when we stopped for the night, wherever that might be. Harunath confirmed my dreaded suspicions a short while later.

“We’ll be pitching camp in the field tonight,” he shouted. “Conditions mean we won’t get to the next Sanctuary before nightfall.”

A ripple of dismay ran through the group and I felt my pulse quicken. It was something I’d never had to do but I’d heard from those who had. To a man, they’d said it was the worst thing they’d ever done. Kernick, the Hunter I’d met on my first night with the group, gripped his bow tighter. That was a responsibility included in their price, to keep watch in the field camps and stave off the attentions of whichever predators were prowling. Not something I wanted to do.

Harunath called us to a halt before we lost the light. The falling snow had eased enough to take stock of what would be our home for the night. The blanket of snow undulated and in places, formations of rock jutted from the whiteness. Our own tracks cut through the snow behind us. The tundra looked lifeless, but it wasn’t. The thought of being so exposed made me shudder. What were we meant to do, just pitch our tents wherever we liked?

“Shift the wagons over there,” Harunath said, pointing at the largest and nearest of the crags.

Kernick nodded in approval. “One less wall we have to build.” He spat onto the snow.

I didn’t have time to worry about what he meant as a moment later the wagon began to slide forward and I’d have ended up on my face if I hadn’t gone with it. We nestled them against the rockface with Harunath’s expert supervision. The next thing I knew, a shovel had been thrust into my hands.

“Don’t just stand there, get digging,” Harunath ordered. I looked around aimlessly. Most others were also milling, unsure of what to do, but a couple of veteran travellers strode off a short distance and sank their shovels into the snow. I followed their lead and eventually, with the light gone and my arms burning, a five-foot wall of snow bricks stood proud. The wagons and the outcrop formed the other two sides to our triangular camp, any gaps filled with packed snow. A fire burnt in the centre and two of the larger tents had been erected. The young and the old were already gathered around the flames. Aromas wafted from the pot of stew and my stomach gave a growl to rival a Wyrm’s. The Hunters took up their positions around the perimeter of the camp, looking outwards into the night. Our last line of defence, should we need them. They looked far less intimidating now than they had in the Sanctuary. Small in the vastness of the wilds.

There was a tense silence that night. Even Rawl had ceased his moaning, at least for now, and no one else really knew how to react to being out in the open. If we spoke too loudly would we attract the attention of the things beyond our encampment? I didn’t want to find out. So we sat without speaking for what felt like hours until Michela decided she’d had enough.

“I’m bored,” she said. Her high voice pierced the night and made me jump. “I want more story.”

Her mother pulled her back in and fretted over her. “Not tonight, my love. We have to be quiet tonight. Can you do that for me?”

“Bollocks to that,” Rawl said. “Anything that can eat us knows we’re here already. What can a little extra noise hurt? If I recall, Simetra’s Final Arrow had just destroyed most of Craydon. Well, let’s jump on a little way and get to the good bits. A night like this needs some excitement.”

I couldn’t help but smile as Rawl cracked his neck and adopted his storytelling pose.

Saphielle

Dain Forbes – Elder Shepherd of the Cleansing Flame – adjusted the parchment on the table and took a sip of wine.

“Do you want some?” he asked. The corner of his parchment curled over and he scowled.

“I’d rather drink poison,” Saphielle spat. The nerve of the man to come into her quarters and treat it like he owned the place. It would take days to rid the place of his stench, a nauseating mix of arrogance and menace. She just hoped Mirabelle wouldn’t pick up on the tension. The girl was asleep in her room, blissfully unaware what was happening in the next room.

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t, there’s much we need to talk about.” His pale, slender fingers rolled the parchment back on itself.

“I have nothing to say to you. I know who you are.” She scowled at him from across the table and fantasised about jamming the black quill into his eye. Dain Forbes sat on the Council of Nobles and was the bridge between the monarchy and the church. His position as Elder Shepherd gave him command of the most fanatical wing of Lucins. The Shepherds were tasked with rooting out heresy anywhere within Alliquis. And beyond, if they got their way. What their leader was doing in her quarters, she didn’t know for certain, though she had a chilling idea.

“On the contrary. I’ve been keeping a close watch on you since you returned without Princept Barok, may he make the Sunlit Pastures, and half a company of Noonguard. If that wasn’t enough to pique my interest, I find you in the Temple of Simetra assaulting the Archlucin herself. Tell me, Princept, to whom do your loyalties lie?”

“You insult me. I am faithful to my country and to the Goddess. What grounds do you have to accuse me?”

The Dain pulled the cut glass stopper from a decanter of wine and poured a long, slow measure into his goblet, before placing the heavy stopper on the corner of the parchment, now trying to curl back over.

“Are you sure I can’t interest you in a drink? It really is good.”

“I know it is, it’s my wine from my drinks cabinet. I’d forbid you from having it, if I thought it would do anything. Take your wine and pour it down your crotch.”

“Very well, I too can dispense with the niceties.” With the speed of a ballista he slapped his palm on the table, making the goblet rattle and sloshing a glob of ruby liquid onto the parchment. Saphielle jumped back in her chair.

“Did you engage in a plot to ambush the Crown Princept and facilitate his untimely death?”

“Get out.”

“You know I can’t do that. My job is to ask the difficult questions and yours is to answer them.”

Saphielle’s chair scraped on the floor as she stood to her fullest height. By Noonguard standards she wasn’t tall, but Dain Forbes lacked in physicality what he made up for in bile.

“Get. Out.” A normal man would have lost their nerve in the face of an enraged Princept, but Forbes merely sniffed and waved at the chair she had vacated.

“Sit down, you silly girl. I promise you’ll prefer that we do this here rather than in my domain. The ritual of the Cleansing Flame is not something you want to go through, as much as I would love to perform it. I don’t trust you, not one bit, and I know who you keep counsel with.”

Saphielle faltered at that. “Counsel?”

“Ah yes, you’re close to Dain Baku, are you not?

“Of course I am, I’ve known the man since I was a child. Why would I not be close with him? Surely you can’t think he is disloyal to Alliquis. He’s led the Noonguard for over a decade, and fought valiantly for this country in the Tythewar.”

Dain Forbes sniffed. “Yes, yes. He’s the greatest warrior this country has ever seen, or so I’m told. His prowess with a sword and an army do not make him immune from treachery, and his exploits twenty years ago are much embellished, as were his rewards. However, it is not him I am most concerned about. You spend a lot of time with Yolene Sim Manu. I wonder if she will be able to give me the answers I want? There are no orders regarding what I can do to her.”

“Don’t you dare hurt her. She’s done nothing except be there for me after what happened.”

Forbes peeled his lips back to reveal yellowing teeth. “Well, there’s a lot to unpack there. Let’s start with – and I quote directly – ‘she’s done nothing.’ That rather implies that you have done something. Would you care to elaborate?”

“All I’m guilty of is losing a brother. You have no grounds to hold me for whatever fantasies you’ve concocted in that twisted little mind.”

“Oh, I do love it when they fight back. You must know, Princept, that this isn’t personal, not entirely anyway. I have been tasked by your father directly, to uncover any evidence of wrongdoing on your part. He seems to think you may have had a part in the Crown Princept’s unfortunate demise. For now, and I begrudge this favourable treatment solely due to your position, you will be confined to this tower. You shall have no visitors, nor will you be permitted to communicate with anyone inside the city or out. The King is concerned that if I dragged you to a cell, it would send a poor message to the people. Do not become complacent, though, for if I find even an iota of evidence you were involved in Princept Barok’s death, you will be locked up faster than you can say turncoat.” The Dain rose and emptied his goblet down his throat. “And thank you for the refreshments. I must find myself a couple of bottles.”

Saphielle snorted. “You couldn’t afford even one.” She hated to draw on her title, hated that it automatically set her apart from everyone, Yolene included, but Dain Forbes needed cutting down a peg or two, and if she couldn’t do that with a sword, she’d have to rely on her tongue.

“You and I will be seeing much more of each other, mark my words. Goodbye, for now.” As he reached the doors to the crane platform, the lights beside it blinked and the doors opened. A woman, also wearing the symbol of the Shepherds on her black outfit, stepped out carrying a tray. Dain Forbes took it and sniffed the steam rising from the bowl. “Ah, I took the liberty of providing you lunch. Get used to it, it’s all you’ll be served for a while.” He placed it on a side table and both he and the woman returned to the hoist. As the doors closed, the Dain waved casually as if he’d been visiting an old friend. The last thing Saphielle saw was a flash of his teeth.

The hoist descended, its progress tracked by the light. Saphielle punched the table and winced. That bastard. His accusations were fabricated from pure cowshit, and what was worse was her father’s suggestion she could have done anything to hurt Barok. She’d loved her brother more than anyone except Mirabelle.

The three of them. The only family she had. She didn’t count her father, the fact they shared the same blood was little more than an unfortunate coincidence. It wasn’t as if he treated her like a daughter. What sane father locked their child in a tower?

She snatched up the decanter and marched to the balcony above the main entrance to the Spire. The Dain and the Shepherd had emerged with a cohort of soldiers. She pulled out the stopper and tipped the rest of the wine over the balcony. A few moments later, she was rewarded with a chorus of yells.

“I hope you like it, arsehole.” A childish response, perhaps, but it made her feel slightly better,

There was a larger problem she hadn’t yet had a chance to consider. Out there somewhere was the Great Wyrm and its champion. Outside Lendas and the White Spire was where she needed to be, not locked in her quarters. Her stomach growled and rightly so. She hadn’t eaten since the night before and Dain Forbes’ unwelcome presence had disrupted her plans for breakfast. Plans that were now defunct.

She returned to the tray. A bowl of thin-looking porridge, bread and a pitcher of water. Not exactly the fare she was used to in the Sunkeep, though better than much of the rations she’d eaten on exercise with the Noonguard. It would be a hard conversation with Mirabelle as to where her usual breakfast of fruit and honey had gone. She picked up the bread, coarse and brown, not a loaf baked in the Crownhall’s kitchens. This was food for prisoners and Dain Forbes was not going to allow her to forget that. Biting into it, her teeth found a foreign texture. She swallowed the mouthful of bread and inspected the rest. Nestled inside the hunk was a small scroll of tightly-rolled parchment. It was almost too much for her to process after everything that had happened that morning. Unrolling it, she immediately recognised Yolene’s flowing script.

Saph. I heard what happened to you at the sept. It pays to be familiar with the Sunkeep gossips and let me tell you, the news has travelled like wildfire. Don’t lose heart. I have already spoken to Dain Baku, who helped me smuggle this to you and has sworn to help us further, and we will get you out before Dain Forbes can manage any more mischief. Before you start to worry, I’m sharp enough to know I will also be a target. I shall go to ground. Stay strong, watch for our messages and, while you’ve got the time, come up with a plan to deal with this Great Wyrm.

Saphielle smiled. She’d told Yolene about the dream the same evening it happened, half expecting her to laugh and call her mad. Instead, she accepted it all with no more than a couple of questions.

Yolene hadn’t signed her name on the note. A shrewd move in case it had been discovered. It would give her some plausible deniability at least. Saphielle reread the note, held it close to her chest, then strode to the candle burning outside Mirabelle’s room. Though there was ample light from the many windows, Mirabelle always slept better when the candle was lit. The first time she’d had to travel with Barok and the Noonguard and leave Mirabelle in the care of a nursemaid, she’d lit the candle and told Mirabelle that the light was the love she’d leave behind for her. Ever since, a candle had to be lit for the girl to sleep at all.

She held the parchment to the flame and watched as it burnt and crisped into black ash. She was Simetra’s champion and she would find a way out. Then the candlelight was eclipsed by a light brighter than the sun. She spun round and rushed to the window. A blazing column of fire seared across the sky from the direction of the sept. She sank to her knees and Simetra’s Final Arrow soared with a terrible beauty towards Firthen.

Ashuto

The setting sun glittered on the slow-moving waters of the Bloodwash River which snaked along the bottom of the valley, flowing out towards the sea. It was over fifty paces wide here, but the width meant the water flowed slowly. There were several places to cross. A score of bridges spanned the waterway from where it dropped out of the mountains to where it disgorged itself into the vastness of the ocean. Each of those protected by a fort, erected when this river had been the border between the two countries. Apart from the bridges, there were a small number of places where the river was slow and shallow enough for an army to cross, and this was one. Red Ford, on account of the carmine-leaved trees which lined the far bank. No doubt the Alliqueans had renamed it something dreadful, as they had the rest of the area. The Tythelands. It was as if they enjoyed rubbing their oppression in Firthenite faces.

The river didn’t hold Ashuto’s attention for long. Instead, his gaze drifted over the soldiers pitching camp on the near bank. Their numbers had doubled since the day they set out from Craydon and watched from afar as it was destroyed. Those who’d held soldiers back initially had sent reinforcements. Still more were being gathered back home, or so the rumours said.

It had indeed been glorious, the first moments of that first battle. Their cavalry had ridden down the enemy just as he’d imagined. He and Wilden and hundreds of other camp followers had spread out along the neighbouring hill to watch and cheer. The noise when the horses hit the line of enemy soldiers was incredible. A crash like every pan in the country had been hurled off a cliff. After that came the screaming and the blood. Any lingering desire to be a part of the battle vanished. The wedge of cavalry carved through the enemy lines and infantry swarmed into the breach, cracking the Alliquean defence open. It started with one, then a handful, then the whole lot of them were turning and running, and the black-clad horses rode them down.

If that was all Ashuto had seen, he might have been able to put it from his mind, but the next day they were walking through the battlefield. Fifteen thousand people turning the bodies in their path to charnel as they marched into Alliquis.

Now they were to do it all again. Another army to face. More blood to be spilt. He looked at the mountains, now looming in the distance to the south.

“That’s the goal,” he whispered. All he had to do was wait. Wait for the army to do their job and leave the path to the mountains safe and clear.

Sharp blasts of a horn woke him with a start. His eyes snapped open and the tent he shared with Wilden was grey in the dawn.

“What’s happening?” he asked.

“Damned if I know, boy. Get out there and find out.” Wilden struggled out from beneath his blankets, his thighs pale and flabby in the half-light. Ashuto swung himself off the low pallet and fumbled with the laces on the tent flap. Eventually he managed to make a hole large enough to thrust his head through. Dozens of people stumbled out of their own tents, rubbing sleep from their eyes and looking confused. The followers were kept apart from the soldiers, so everyone here performed a function that kept the great machine of an army rolling but were not fighters themselves.

“The enemy are attacking,” a loud voice announced. “They stole a march on us during the night and are approaching the ford.”

Ashuto couldn’t see the speaker, but the words were like ice in his veins.

“Did you hear that?” he asked.

“I heard, alright. Get dressed. Let’s see what all the fuss is about. There’s nothing we can do in bed.”

Ashuto fought with his trousers and wrestled them on before slipping on his boots. They no longer rubbed and kept his feet, if not dry, then drier than they would have been in his old shoes.

Outside the tent was total confusion. The smiths and tanners and wheelwrights milled around, no one quite sure what they were meant to be doing. Ashuto found a gap where he could see across the river. His bladder tightened. The ridge on the far side bristled with a forest of spears. The first golden rays of dawn lanced down the valley and turned the enemies’ polished armour to fire as they marched over the crown of the hill and began to flow down the slope towards the ford.

Ashuto fought through the growing crowd and reached the top of the hill. Where the army had camped last night was now a swarm of black-clad insects attempting to form into companies amongst the tents and campfires. All the while, the Alliqueans rolled onward. The far bank was almost obscured by the ranks of soldiers. Just as Ashuto was sure they were about to march into the river, they halted a few yards from the water in a wall of shining steel.

There was an emptiness inside him that had nothing to do with his lack of breakfast. His legs felt weak. He looked around from somewhere to sit, but there was only the dew-crusted grass. How must the women and men down there feel? He felt Wilden behind him a moment before the mapmaker’s hand came to rest on his shoulder.

“You never really forget what it’s like,” he said in a small voice. “The waiting is the worst bit, watching them across the battlefield as they watch you back. Once you get into the thick of it you don’t have time to think any more. You just survive.”

“You were in the army?” Ashuto asked.

“Three years when I was a young lad. Three years too many.” Ashuto was tempted to ask his master more about the subject, but there was a glazed look in Wilden’s eye that told him the mapmaker was far away.

Hundreds more figures formed up along the crest of the valley. These were not armoured, or at least not in the mirrored plate of the massed ranks, and he couldn’t make out what they were armed with. Drums thundered orders and their bass notes echoed across the water. A moment later and the soldiers at the top of the hill moved as one and the air filled with a hum like a swarm of angry bees as a black cloud flew over the water. The arrows hit the still-forming ranks with a sickening crash. Scores of bodies collapsed under that first volley and by the time Ashuto had taken it in, the next volley carried death on white feathers.

“Come on, lad. There’s no need for us to watch this.” Wilden’s cheeks were pale underneath the patchy stubble.

Ashuto tried to move with him, but his feet were rooted to the spot. Volley after volley rained down on their soldiers. Those who’d managed to gather their wits crouched low and held their shields over their heads. Those who hadn’t, fell to the arrows.

Horns sounded on their side of the river, trumpeting an order Ashuto didn’t recognise.

“We’re retreating,” Wilden said. He sounded surprised.

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Oh, it is, but I didn’t expect it to happen. Too many officers think the way to win a battle is to throw soldiers at the enemy until they break.” The soldiers at the bottom of the hill responded immediately to the horns, but where Ashuto would have run away as fast as his legs would carry him, they pulled back in as neat ranks as they could form. Still the arrows fell and gaps would appear momentarily in the ordered lines until another soldier stepped in.

To one side of the retreating infantry, their own archers gathered, having camped further along the river. The first volley of a score of arrows skimmed across the water, leaving silvery trails in their wake like wisps of spider silk. Where they hit the enemy there was a flash of light and a dozen bodies collapsed.

“By Amul, so it is true. We’ve developed weapons to counteract the Noonguard’s blessed armour,” Wilden breathed.

“The what?”

“Noonguard, the elite Alliquean regiment. Their armour is said to have been blessed by Simetra herself. It’s almost indestructible. When I met them across the battlefield in my youth, I knew it wouldn’t end well. This, though, this changes everything.” He waved at the flashes of silver-blue light.

“Does it? They still outnumber us, and their archers have the reach on ours.” It was true. Already the bowmen on the far ridge were turning their attention to the new threat. Arrows slashed across the valley, piercing flesh and cutting a score of archers down. The Firthenite bowmen shuffled back in an attempt to escape the range of the enemies’ shots. Ashuto was so engrossed in the battle of the bowmen that he remained oblivious to a large group of robed figures until they were almost upon him.

“Out of the way,” one of the robed figures said. As they pushed past, Ashuto caught a glimpse of the crescent moon tattooed in black onto their face.

Ashuto clamped a hand to his mouth to hold the gasp. These were Noxa, the fanatically devoted followers of Amul.

Craydon had a number of preachers who assisted with births, weddings and deaths. Or at least it used to. The rumours still running through the camp were that the survivors numbered so few they had all been housed in a barn a mile outside the walls. These preachers, though, had been of the lowest rank of the church, not willing to submit to the agony that came with the facial tattoos.

The Noxa spread out along the top and a trio of boys no older than Ashuto hauled iron-rimmed chests into reach. Ashuto kept his eye on the one who’d shoved him. The Noxum slashed their palm and grabbed a crystal from the chest. Where blood met stone, the crystal began to glow the same colour as the arrows. A cloud of soft light gathered around the Noxum’s hand then was sucked into it. The same thing happened along the line of Noxa. As one, they raised their other hand towards the enemy. The sleeve of the nearest Noxum slipped down and exposed a dark-skinned arm. Worming its way underneath the skin was a glowing blue slug. It travelled along the Noxum’s arm and, when it reached their hand, burst out in a blinding flash. The light arced across the valley like a miniature version of the weapon that had destroyed Craydon, though blue and silver rather than the oranges and golds of that terrible fire. Where the light landed, it erupted with a blast of silver flames, flinging bodies into the air. With the magic spent, the Noxa threw the crystals aside, now dull and dark.

Ashuto scanned the line. There were at least ten chests, and if they were as full as the ones he could see into, the Noxa could fire off over a hundred shots before they exhausted their supply. He turned his attention to the shining ranks of the enemy. The explosions had thrown them into the same chaos the Firthenites had been in. Some had landed amongst the archers. The hail of arrows faltered as more explosions rocked them, throwing dirt and bodies high. Drums rumbled again on the far side and that glittering wall of soldiers inched backwards as arrows and the Noxa’s magic continued to deplete them.

A cheer went up from the soldiers below. A handful even started to run towards the ford but they were swiftly brought down.

“Have we won?” Ashuto asked.

Wilden’s shoulders sagged. “No lad, this is just the beginning.”

Saphielle

The night was still and lightless, the stars the only witnesses as Saphielle stepped out onto the balcony. Cold, distant, uncaring. They’d always reminded her of her father in that way. She was dressed in dark riding gear and a pack hung from a single strap over her shoulder. Her breathing was long and slow and deep.

“You’ve got to do this, Saph,” she whispered. “Think. Mirabelle needs a world to grow up in. Yes, she’ll miss you now, but one day she’ll understand. It’ll all be worth it.”

Her daughter was sleeping soundly in her cot with no idea that her mother was about to leave. Saphielle hadn’t found the words to tell her, not that she would have really understood. Instead, she’d put the girl to sleep just after sundown and had sat there until just before midnight simply watching her sleep. It had been the hardest thing in the world to get up and get dressed, knowing what she was about to leave behind. However, there was harder to come.

An owl’s screech cut through the night, but it didn’t come from the forest outside the city walls. Instead, it came from below. Saphielle answered it back with a call of her own. She swung the pack onto both shoulders and strode back inside.

Yolene’s latest note lay on the table. She hadn’t bothered to burn this one. It wouldn’t matter if Dain Forbes found it once she was gone. There was a single sentence on the parchment.

Tonight is the night. Be ready for the signal.

That was the only information she had. What was the signal? What was the plan? Questions she had no answers to, but she trusted Yolene and Baku. Between them they’d come up with something. She prayed it would be soon.

A soft chime indicated that someone was ascending the crane. These days, that could only be one person. She pulled the wrap tighter, pressing Mirabelle firmly against her back. It could just be a terrible coincidence that Dain Forbes had chosen today and now to pay her a visit, but somehow she doubted it. If he was here, it more likely meant that Yolene or Baku had been caught, and Forbes did not have to go lightly on them. The light crept up the image of the Spire, every heartbeat bringing it closer. Her hand went to the hilt of her sword, freeing the first finger’s width from the sheath. She could fight. Her Noonguard training made her a match for anyone in that elite group, let alone a short, mangy Shepherd. Mirabelle wriggled in the strapping and she slid the sword home again. If she fought with her daughter on her back, she put Mirabelle at risk. If she set her down, well, all sorts could happen. Fighting was out of the question, this time at least. Her best option was to feign total ignorance. She glanced down at her garb. That would have to come off, and the crane was approaching two-thirds of the way up the tower. Hurrying towards her bedchamber, she snatched the note from the table. Then she set it back down. There was one more idea.

The doors of the crane shaft slid open with a whisper. Dain Forbes and five other Shepherds stepped out. The sight of six inquisitors in their black coats was enough to strike terror into even the strongest of people, but Saphielle felt only a nervous excitement as she observed them between the leaves of the large Dendronita bush on the main balcony.

“Princept Saphielle, a word if I may?” Dain Forbes swept in like he usually did, leaving a trail of dirt in his wake. She wouldn’t have put it past him to deliberately muddy his shoes before coming up. Yet another tactic to push her. There was no reply and the Dain cast his gaze around the atrium. “Saphielle, your presence is demanded.”

His eyes settled on the note and narrowed. With a gesture from the Dain, the other Shepherds fanned out. One was the woman who’d brought her food on the first day of her incarceration. Two held iron-headed crooks, but she was sure they were all armed one way or another.

Mirabelle made a soft noise and Saphielle tensed. Whatever Yolene and Baku had planned, she could no longer rely on it to escape. Her own scheme would give her no more than a single chance, and she couldn’t lose that.

“Hush now, sweet one. You must be quiet for Mummy.”

The girl must have understood the tone of Saphielle’s voice as she fell silent. That was her little girl, so clever. Always had been. Dain Forbes approached the table and picked up the note.

He slapped it back onto the wood. “Search everywhere, she’s trying to escape. I knew she was guilty. They only run if they’re guilty.”

The Dain marched towards her bedchamber and the woman she knew followed. The four remaining Shepherds split into pairs and spread out. Saphielle picked out a pebble from the Dendronita pot and flicked it through the balcony doors. It rattled across the stone floor. All four of the Shepherds spun towards the sound.

“Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be, Princept,” one of them snarled.

Saphielle suppressed a laugh. The man was tall, but his arms looked like twigs and she was sure he’d blow over in a strong gust of wind. Something about the Shepherds of the Cleansing Flame that attracted the wrong sort of person. Anyone who deliberately sought out a position with that sort of power over others was not the right person to wield it. With Forbes and his companion no doubt tearing her bedchamber apart and the others occupied on the far side of the atrium, there was clear ground between herself and the crane shaft. She dashed from cover and through the doors, keeping low as Dain Baku had taught her. Twenty feet. Fifteen. It would take the doors a few excruciating seconds to open and a few more to close behind her, but then she would be away.

“There she is!”

The cry was like a stab to the gut. One of the Shepherds pointed their crook at her and the other three spun to look. The two who appeared to be unarmed reached inside their long black coats, withdrew small crossbows and slotted something into the groove. Saphielle skidded the last few yards on the smooth stone and slapped the button.

The doors sighed and began to part.

“You’ve got nowhere to go. Do yourself a favour and come quietly,” said the Shepherd who’d spotted her.

Saphielle ignored them and tried to prise the doors open faster. Mirabelle had given up trying to be quiet and wailed from within the wrapping. The crossbows snapped and something hissed through the air towards her. A thin cord whipped past her head, decapitating the plant next to her. The other tangled itself around her wrist and the two weights on either end smashed painfully into her arm. She shook it off and squeezed through the doors.

“You’re doing so well, we’re almost there my little bunny,” she said over her shoulder to a still-bawling Mirabelle. She reached back and found one of her little hands and squeezed it. With a prayer, she turned and drew her sword. The doors were almost fully open and she would have to defend the gap until she could close them again.

A sharp-face woman jabbed her crook at her. It was an unusual weapon, but the symbol of the Shepherds was as dangerous as a mace despite its looks. Saphielle’s one advantage was that in the hoist there was little room to swing a weapon that long. Far better to use a short sword. And they could only come one at a time. She feinted a jab of her own at the Shepherd’s head, twisted the blade and slapped the woman’s hand with the flat. She yelped and dropped the crook. Saphielle scooped it into the hoist with her foot. As the woman retreated, Saphielle jerked the knob on the wall to the bottom of the tower’s image. With a subtle shake the doors once again began to move.

“Out of my way,” Dain Forbes barked. He appeared in the gap with rage painted across his sallow features. “Do you know how much worse you’re making this? The Cleansing Flame will be the least of your worries once I’ve got you in a cell.”

“Take your crook and shove it up your arse.”

“Drag her out, by her hair if you have to, and shut that child up,” Forbes roared and shoved his partner forwards as the doors closed. The woman thrust her arm in and managed to squeeze herself into the gap. For a moment she was stuck between the doors and they locked eyes. One stab and the Shepherd would be gone and Saphielle would be free. She gripped the hilt, palm clammy.

She had killed before, but never her own people, and with the Shepherd incapacitated as she was, this was close to murder. That hesitation was enough for the Shepherd to pull herself fully into the hoist. The door shut behind her and it was the two of them. In a box.

“We’ve got you. Now, you traitorous wretch. There’s more of us on the ground.”

“I’m not worried about them. From my perspective, it’s just the two of us and I have a lot more to lose than you do.”

The Shepherd pulled a cudgel from her belt and slapped it on her palm.

“You can surrender, or I can beat you into submission. I know which one I’d rather do.”

Saphielle dropped her gaze and her shoulders, brought both wrists together and offered them to the shepherd.

“Finally, the girl learns what’s best for her.”

Keeping the heels of her palms together, Saphielle thrust both hands into the Shepherd’s sternum. The air whooshed as it was driven from her lungs and she staggered back against the doors. Saphielle had timed the journey enough times to know it took less than a minute from her quarters to the ground. That gave her less than a minute to incapacitate the Shepherd and execute the second stage of her plan.

She swept her leg around, hooked the Shepherd’s ankle and pulled, sending her crashing to the floor. The Shepherds of the Cleansing Flame may have been good at dishing out violence on their terms, but when it came to a fair fight with someone trained in the ways of the Noonguard, there was no comparison.

Saphielle slid her arm around the woman’s neck and twisted so she was behind her. She applied pressure and the Shepherd slumped in her arms. Not dead, but she wouldn’t be bothering her again tonight.

Now Saphielle drew her sword. She shoved the tip into the thin gap around the edge of the panel and prized it from the wall.

Inside were several cables. For the first time in her life, she regretted not paying more attention in her history lessons when they’d spoken about the White Spire and the Sunkeep. All she knew about the mechanism was that twice a year an academy scholar came to check it and calibrate the weights and counterweights. There were hoists within the Crownhall and the wider Sunkeep, but none were as large or old as this one and they relied on levers and gears. This mechanism had been a part of the Spire before the borders of Alliquis had been drawn, and none had been able to recreate it.

For a moment, she felt guilty for what she was about to do, before she grabbed a couple of the wires and yanked them out. The hoist groaned, lurched slightly to one side, then dropped. Saphielle’s stomach flew into her mouth. There was still enough height left in the hoist to smash her and Mirabelle into paste if they hit the ground. The box juddered to a stop with a protesting screech.

She breathed a sigh of relief. Now, she just had the hope she could get out. She took out a knife, her sword too precious to risk damaging it, and jimmied it between the doors. The gap was no more than a hair’s breadth, but with much pushing and wiggling, the blade slipped through. She levered the doors open enough to get her fingers in, and with what strength she had left, she pulled the doors open.

The hoist shaft was pitch black, illuminated only by the light inside the box. That was all well and good while she was in it as well, but once she left she would be able to see nothing.

Unless…

She recalled when her grandfather – her mother’s father – had died. She had been no more than five years old, but his funeral rites had been held in the temple. His body had been placed on a slab underneath the statue of Simetra and flamestone crystals were laid at the corners. During the ritual, the Archlucin intoned some intelligible words and the crystals glowed, bathing her grandfather’s body in Simetra’s holiest light before he passed fully on to Caenyss and the Sunlit Pastures.

She had flamestone, but the words eluded her. Still, it was all she had. She took the arrowhead from around her neck and held it tentatively between her fingers. The last thing she wanted to do was drop it down the shaft. The stone had a glow that bathed her thumb and finger in a dull orange light, but that stretched no further than a couple of inches.

“Come on,” she whispered. An ember of warmth flared in the centre of the arrowhead and it began to glow brighter.

“What’s that light, Mummy?”

“This is a special present from a friend. One day it will be yours, but for now Mummy needs it.”

The wall of the shaft was close enough to reach out and touch, but there was a gap large enough to climb through. The only problem now was the forty-foot drop to the ground.

Leaving the Shepherd where she lay, Saphielle leant against the shaft wall and grabbed the top edge of the box. Her fingers sank through a good inch of accumulated dust before she found a solid purchase and pulled herself up onto the top of the hoist with the now lantern-bright arrowhead around her neck.

“Are you alright back there?”

“I don’t like it, it smells funny.”

“I know darling, but we won’t be here for long.” Mirabelle was right, the shaft had a musty smell and there was a high chance a human had not seen this part of it for centuries.

The inside of the shaft was made of the same white stone as the rest of the Spire and even here there were intricately carved strands of ivy and oak leaves. The cable suspending the hoist – thick as her bicep – disappeared into the darkness above with nothing but empty air below. It had been such a clever idea in her head, stopping the hoist somewhere in the middle. Not only could Forbes and the Shepherds not get down from the Spire, nor could anyone else get up to rescue them. She hadn’t fully considered the ‘getting down herself’ part.

“Any ideas, my beautiful girl?”

“Down. I want to go down.” Mirabelle’s high voice held the tone that told Saphielle her daughter was close to a tantrum.

“I know you do. I’ll get us down, but I need you to be good for just a little longer. Can you do that for Mummy?”

“I’m always good.”

Saphielle smiled and her chest filled with a warmth that had nothing to do with flamestone. “That you are, my precious one, that you are.”

She stood right on the edge of the box and reached for one of the carved vines, following it around the shaft with her eyes. On one of the walls, the vines and branches converged into a thick stone trunk, the bark detailed to perfection, and running down the middle were a set of rungs. Had Mirabelle not been on her back, she would’ve dropped to her knees in thanks. The rungs were metal and cold, not having felt the heat of the sun for hundreds of years. If they’d been anywhere else but the White Spire for that length of time, they would have rusted through, but the Spire had been built with perfection in mind.

By the time she reached the ground her arms ached and her breath came short, but she was down and they were both in one piece. Once again she levered the doors open and finally she was in the main atrium. Voices came from outside.

Thankfully, they were more interested in stopping anyone from coming in than they were from getting out. After all, they had no cause to suspect Dain Forbes. The Shepherds who’d accompanied him would struggle to apprehend one woman. She may not have known about the ladder, but she had discovered there was more than one way out of the Spire. Instead of taking the ramp towards the door, she climbed over the low balustrade and climbed to the floor. Pushing aside a large plant, she pressed the relief of an acorn and a section of wall recessed and slid aside. The light from the atrium illuminated a short passage and another door at the end, no more than ten yards away. Saphielle ran to it and pulled the handle, the door swinging inwards on well-oiled hinges.

She was about to step out when Dain Forbes’ voice drifted down: “She’s escaped and trapped us up here. Spread out. Make sure she has nowhere to go.”

“Too late,” she muttered. Cupping her hands, she raised them to her lips and hooted like a Ghost Owl into the onrushing night. A moment later her call was answered. She checked around to ensure none of the smarter Shepherds thought to look around the back, then dashed across the twenty yards of open ground to the corner of one of the many outbuildings.

Yolene poked her head out as she approached and met her with a strong embrace. “Take your time, why don’t you? What happened?”

“A certain Shepherd and his flock. I’ll fill you in on the way. Where are we going?”

Yolene grinned. “You’re about to meet my Nana, the only person in Ebria I’d trust to look after Mirabelle. You’ll love her.”

“The woman who raised you? Mirabelle will be a dream in comparison.”

Ashuto

Wilden and Ashuto crossed the Bloodwash an hour past dawn the next day at the rear of the Outriders’ column. The thin line of cloud that capped the horizon was the colour of blood. Fitting, as they rode past the scores of bodies the enemy hadn’t bothered to collect.

“Those clouds’ll bring rain, I guarantee it. By noon we’ll all be wet as a stickleback,” Wilden muttered.

“Will you tell me where we’re going now?” After the enemy had retreated over the ridge, leaving their dead for the crows and foxes, many in camp had wished to pursue them and finish them off. Indeed, Ashuto himself had urged the Outriders on when they’d formed up along the riverbank and had been disappointed as they wheeled round and went back. The more level-headed folk explained that it could be a decoy and who knew what size of an army lay over the ridge, but it didn’t dispel the frustration. Instead, they’d pulled back to the top of the valley, which meant Ashuto and Wilden had to strike their tent and move it back to where the followers were relegated. Well, that was the plan until Wilden was summoned by a rider wearing a messenger’s sash, leaving Ashuto to wrestle with canvas and rope alone. Wilden arrived back a couple of hours later with a stony face and didn’t say a word about what had happened. He did, however, order Ashuto to double check the equipment and to be ready to leave by dawn. Wilden brought his mount closer to Ashuto’s.

“You must be patient, boy. Certain orders are not to be disclosed to just any ears.” He looked around at the soldiers riding ahead of them and tapped the side of his nose. “Just know that we have an important role to play in what’s to come and it might not be exactly what you expected.”

Ashuto shifted in his saddle. The leather was already rubbing the inside of his thighs and every step jolted him out of the saddle and bumped him back down again. First boots, now this. His parents had never owned a horse. A pair of ill-tempered donkeys, yes, but no horse, and so the first time he’d ridden one had been a little over an hour ago when Wilden appeared outside the sagging tent in the grey dawn with the reins of a bay stallion in one hand and those of an old chestnut mare in the other.

He stroked the mare’s mane and she shook her head in delight. Or disgust, it was hard to tell. “You and I are going to be good friends. I’m sure of it,” he said, scratching around the rim of the halter. In reply, the horse jolted him out of the saddle harder than usual. “Or maybe not.”

The first settlement they came to was an abandoned village. A number of the houses were burnt out and there was a disturbing number of what looked like yellowing sticks peeking between tufts of grass and weeds. The Outriders rode onto the village common and formed a stomping, champing circle in the middle. Wilden and Ashuto and the handful of other non-fighting members of the group waited on the outskirts. One of the riders with three red slashes across their armour nudged their horse forward a few steps and removed their helmet to reveal a frizz of black hair which, in Ashuto’s eyes, had no place being stuck under a helm.

“Here’s the long and the short of it, gentlemen and ladies. This regiment has a unique role to play in the days and weeks ahead. While the other units will be conducting our usual activities, we shall be running a deception our glorious leaders hope will keep the enemy pinned to their capital. But what? I hear you all ask.” No one had, but that didn’t stop the captain from carrying on regardless. “Our role is to harry the enemy force and corral them back to Lendas while the rest of our army instead marches on the great temple of Simetra and razes it to the ground. Don’t ask me why this has been decided, that answer is above my rank. Further orders shall be issued shortly. Until then, make yourselves ready. There won’t be an easy day now until you get back to your homes.”

The commander jammed her helmet back over her hair and rode towards the largest building still standing. The Outriders dispersed moments later with sharp commands from their unit commanders, claiming the rest of the houses for themselves. The civilian contingent were left with a stable, its door half off its hinges and holes in the roof.

“So, what do you think?” Wilden asked, once they’d claimed their corner of the stable.

“It’s cold, drafty and damp but it’ll do for a night or two.”

“Not the accommodation, the orders. I couldn’t tell you earlier just in case it got out, but we’re going to be mapping the route to Lendas. We’re actually going to make a difference, unlike the rest of them.”

“Sounds exciting,” he replied, unconvinced. “Where is the temple they intend to attack?”

“I don’t know exactly, but the rest of the army will be going west, so I suppose it’ll be near the base of that mountain range. That’s not something we have to worry about, though. All we need to do is make sure we come away with a map of the capital and its surrounds. That’s our mission amongst all this.”

Ashuto’s heart fell. Of all the people to be drafted into this decoy, it had to be him, the only person who wanted to see those mountains up close with all his being. And to top it all off, this would be more dangerous than anything else. The sting of disappointment was hard to ignore. It should have been an honour to be selected for this part of the campaign, but all he could think of was seeing the creature again, and there was no way that would happen if he was going in the wrong direction.

Maybe he could speak to the commander and get transferred back to the main body of the army, but even as he had the thought, he knew it would never happen. That only left one option, to abandon his orders and make his own way west to find the temple, and beyond it the mountains.

He chuckled dryly. What skills did he have to cross a country? He didn’t know how to hunt or start a fire or build shelter. If he left the protection of the army, he’d be dead within a week, and that wasn’t accounting for wild animals. To top it all off, there was an enemy army out there who’d kill him as soon as look at him. He had to face the truth that, unless something miraculous happened, his dream of reaching the mountains was over. For now, at least.

“Something funny?” Wilden asked. For all that the mapmaker had looked out for him since they’d left, there was still a part of him that couldn’t help being an arse.

“Not to anyone else. When do we start?”

“Tomorrow. I have some basic reports from the raiding parties that have been through this region recently to go over. We have them to thank for this accommodation, in fact. Let’s see if they’ve left us any gems of insight. Here, you can read this one and make notes.” Ashuto caught the scroll Wilden threw across to him. It unfurled easily and he was glad to see only a few paragraphs of writing. Reading a tome of raid reports wasn’t something that filled him with anticipation.

This particular raid had been of another village a few miles further into Alliquis. Whichever officer had written it had taken more joy in detailing the horrific things they’d done to the denizens of the village than noting landmarks or geographical features. The only useful bit of information was that there was a road towards the capital not far from the village. A road, the report writer had taken great lengths to detail, that was the perfect place for the ambush they’d sprung on a group of Noonguard. All but one had been massacred. He put the report aside and fervently hoped the others weren’t quite as full of graphic violence.

Later that evening, Wilden returned to the stable and called Ashuto over. His cheeks were flushed red and the smell of cheap wine hung off him like a cloak.

“You’d better get some decent sleep. We’re going with the scouts ahead of the main group tomorrow morning. Commander Kalenach wants us to start getting down the lay of the land and we can’t give her a poor first impression of our talents. How do you feel about going out on your own?”

“I suppose I could manage that.”

“Good, good. Now, be a fine lad and get me some more wine. I think there’s a bottle going begging in the next house over. Tell them Wilden sent you.”

Ashuto had to blink hard to stop himself from rolling his eyes. That name might have held a little bit of sway in Craydon. Gnat’s Arse aside, he had been a prominent figure on the merchants’ council and had his nose in all sorts of business. All that was gone now. Here he was Wilden the mapmaker. A civilian whom the real soldiers had to keep alive and they’d let them know in no uncertain terms that they were fighters, not childminders. Still, Wilden had ordered it, so Ashuto shook the numbness from his feet and trudged outside into the cool night.

Firelight spilled from the glassless windows and kicked-in doors all around the village square. A handful of voices came from the house attached to the stable and Ashuto approached what was left of the door. He knocked on the doorframe, but the sound barely carried above the talking.

“Hello? I’ve come with a request from Wilden the cartographer.” He stuck his head around the corner to find half a dozen soldiers sitting around a fire built of bits of furniture from the house. Half a chair sat on the bed of embers. “He’s wondering if you might spare some wine.”

“From who?” one of the soldiers asked, a woman the size and shape of an ox.

“Wilden? The mapmaker,” Ashuto repeated.

“The fat, dumpy one? Balding, with those red blotches on the top of his head?” This caused the others to roar with laughter. It was a crude description, but accurate nonetheless, so he nodded.

“Not a chance,” piped up the youngest of the lot, a chestnut-haired lad still in his teens.

“Tell him if he wants wine he has to buy it, or fight for it.” The ox-like soldier was clearly the de facto leader of this small group. “We don’t need hangers-on like you and your master. Come back when you have something useful to add.” She picked up an animal bone and flicked it at him. It bounced off his cheek, leaving a smear of grease, and he backed out of the door to a chorus of jeers before anything else could be flung his way.

How to explain his failure to Wilden, though? He supposed he could venture further afield and ask other groups of Outriders, but he had a feeling the reception would be the same wherever he turned.

In the end, it didn’t matter that he returned empty handed. Wilden was snoring softly, propped up against a wooden stall. Ashuto took the candle before the man knocked it over and burnt the place down. He also rescued the few pages of notes that his master had made from reading the raid reports. Reading the first page, he felt his eyelids begin to droop. By the end of the second he could barely keep them open. He blew the candle out and found the comfiest patch of ground he could, curling up on it like a dog and drifting off to sleep and into a dream.

He stood atop a low hill surrounded by stones embedded in the ground. They formed concentric rings from the hill’s crown to its base and gave the hillock the appearance of a stubby pin cushion. Across the plain below the hill, a group of black-clad soldiers rode through knee-high grass, the Outrider’s symbol visible on cloaks and armour. There was a muffled drumbeat that shook the air so that his vision wavered. It sounded almost like a beating heart and it appeared to be coming from beneath his feet. He looked down at grass that was too green and saw it moving. Rising and sinking like lapping water, or someone’s chest as they slept.

Then the beating came from above. The sky was the heavy white of impending snow, yellowing at the edges as if it were aging parchment. A shape disturbed the clouds. Only a flicker of movement but Ashuto knew he’d seen it before. Once. At a distance, but it was unmistakable. Great wings pierced the clouds. Blew them away with no more effort than blowing out a candle. For a glorious moment, the creature was framed against a pale sun, a silhouette of power and strength. Its outstretched wings could have filled the old market square at Craydon tip to tip. Its tail was even longer, culminating in spikes like a mace head. Two muscular hind legs kicked the air. Ashuto followed the scaled body up to a thick neck and a spined head. He looked back to the Outriders. How were none of them seeing this? A creature like that right above them yet they ignored it, or were unable to see it. They continued to ride across the plain towards where it broke up into a series of rocky outcrops and crags.

Back overhead, the Wyrm had gone, leaving only a hole in the clouds. Ashuto felt a stab of deep loss, deeper than the grief he’d felt over the attack on Craydon, though that was only a faint memory of something that may have happened. Then the air cracked behind him and he spun to see the Wyrm scything through the sky. If he could only have reached out, he’d have touched the beast’s belly as it went over, but his limbs were rigid and unmoving.

Something fell glittering to the floor a few feet away and it sat there winking in the light. The reflection was dimmed moments later as the clouds above turned from white to grey to near black. Still the Outriders failed to react to what was going on around them and Ashuto knew with a sick certainty that they were riding to their deaths. Sure enough, he watched from his vantage point as scores of mirror-coated soldiers poured from between the rocks. He wanted to shout. To warn the Outriders of the oncoming enemy, but his voice was seized as surely as his limbs.

All he could do was watch in horror as they fell upon the column, cutting them down in a tide of blood, screaming like animals until every last one of them was dead. The corpses and soldiers dissolved into flakes of snow which settled on the ground, covering the spreading blood with a blanket of virgin white. In moments it was as if nothing had happened there. Then his body was his own again. The fallen object still lurked between the standing stones and he reached down to grab it. His fingers closed around the thing and a sudden jolt ran through him.

His heart was gripped in ice. Every bit of warmth fled from his body and his vision turned black.

Pel

There was complete silence as Rawl finished. Everyone around the fire leant forward, keen not to miss a single detail.

“What are you all waiting for, the Great Wyrm to swoop down and eat us all?” the old man asked. “Get yourselves to bed. My throat is raw and I’m done for the night.” The Hunters were still stationed around the perimeter of the camp, eyes trained on the night beyond, though some had taken a few steps closer to the fire, either for warmth or to listen to Rawl. We split between the tents and I found myself nestled between Modrik and Harunath. I was certain he was keeping an eye on me. Well, all I wanted was to catch up on the hours I’d lost the night before.

But that night, the present mirrored the past. A horn brayed a harsh warning, dragging me from my sleep. For a moment I was standing on top of the ridge, watching an Alliquean army march towards me. The alarm was picked up almost immediately by the other Hunters and the night was full of their noise. I sat up, fighting against the two men either side of me who were each trying to do the same. It could have been an hour since I fell asleep or five, I had no way of knowing other than my weary bones.

“Snowfiends!” someone shouted from outside. “They’re attacking.” Harunath was hot on my tail as I dashed out of the tent and into a light snowfall. The storm lanterns the Hunters held flashed where they swung them around, trying to illuminate the threat, but instead they caused more confusion.

I could hear them beyond the camp. A wet, hungry sound that made every hair on my neck stand on end. A bowstring cracked and a high-pitched yelp followed, quickly drowned out by the snarls of the Snowfiends. I caught a flash of pale limb in a cone of lantern light and ran towards it.

“Pel!” Harunath called after me and I half turned. The warden pointed at a crate near the fire. “Weapons in there.” I wrenched the lid off to find a selection of maces. I wished for a sword, not that I’d ever used one, but the thought of something that could cut flesh appealed. The thought didn’t stop me from taking a mace, though. It was surprisingly heavy, the metal head little more than a ball of scavenged metal with some lumps and ridges on it. I gave it an experimental swing and smiled. Harunath joined me moments later with his own mace. His was the length of my arm with a proper flanged head, though it looked flimsy in the big warden’s hands. We met Ileta as we ran towards our hand-built wall. She had knives in both hands and a stony expression.

“Never had this before,” she said.

“Me neither, but I have heard of Snowfiends getting desperate enough to attack camps. Usually happens when food is scarce, though, unlike now.”

The Hunters had formed a defensive line a few yards back from the wall. Some directed their lanterns outwards and I could finally see what we were up against. At least a dozen Snowfiends milled about the other side of the wall, some advancing into the light before dropping back again. The bodies of two more lay unmoving just inside the wall.

There was something about the Snowfiends that set me on edge. It wasn’t solely the fact they wanted to kill us, or that they had the teeth and claws with which to do it. There were plenty of things which fit those criteria. Rather, it was how similar they were to us. They shambled upright on two legs and their elongated arms dragged against their knees, but in broad strokes they were human.

One ran up and threw itself at the wall. A Hunter darted forward and impaled it with their spear. The Snowfiend fell back with a screech, but the seed had been planted. Another tried it a moment later, collapsing with an arrow in its neck. Then there were a dozen, two dozen, all hurling themselves at the wall with more appearing from the night.

Kernick’s spear struck out again and again, bringing down a Snowfiend with each one. Their blood, if you could call it that, oozed blue against the lifeless grey of their withered skin. Either side of me the Hunters kept the Snowfiends at bay.

Once or twice Harunath stepped forward and cracked a skull with his mace. The noise they made was like nothing I’d ever heard before. It didn’t carry the weight of dread like the cry of the White Wyrm, but a hundred beasts snarling in unison was almost as bad.

“The wall’s collapsing!” A chunk of packed snow crumbled from the top of the wall ten yards away and a Snowfiend’s snapping jaw appeared in the gap. An arrow embedded itself in the thing’s eye socket and it dropped out of sight. Grey hands clawed at the hole and tore it wider.

“With me,” Harunath shouted and charged towards the breach.

I’d dashed after him before I realised what I was doing.

A Hunter kept the Snowfiends at bay with her spear. She thrust forward again, but rather than stepping back as she had done before, she tugged frantically on the shaft. The spearhead was lodged between a Snowfiend’s ribs. The Hunter looked despairingly back at her comrades before grey hands found spear shaft, arms and legs. In a blink she was gone and the crunching sound that came from outside the wall left no questions as to her fate.

A large Snowfiend leapt into the gap and those behind it pushed forward, spilling through the wall and into the camp. The big one swiped at a Hunter with cracked nails and ripped half his jaw off in a spray of red. Harunath buried his mace in the side of its head a heartbeat later.

“Form a line!” he shouted.

I pushed on beside him, almost tripping over a body on the floor. I couldn’t tell if it was human or not. This was madness. All I wanted to do was run back to the tent and hide under the blankets like I had done as a child, but there were few enough of us able to fight as it was. I glanced along our thin line of defence. I was one of maybe twenty armed with a mace. The Hunters had their spears and bows. Ileta, looking as wild as the Snowfiends, kept them at bay with those twin blades. The rest of them held nothing but staves or rocks. Only we could the Snowfiends away from those unable to fight.

In the time it had taken us to create our terrifyingly thin defensive line, the Snowfiends had torn down enough of the wall that they could shamble in en mass. One entered my reach and I cracked the mace down on the top of its head. Whereas anything hit by Harunath dropped and didn’t rise again, this creature turned to look at me with blue liquid oozing down its scalp. It closed the gap between us in a heartbeat and snapped pointed teeth at my face. A spear pinned it from my left and another from my right finished it off.

“You’ll need to hit them harder than that,” Kernick said. “Aim for the temple. It’s where their skull is thinnest.”

I nodded, too scared to reply without my voice breaking. At least thirty Snowfiends had breached the wall and victory would only be decided by which group killed the other first.

There was a bark from beyond the wall. To my ears it was the same guttural sound the Snowfiends made, but it had an effect on them. They looked backwards and pressed on with renewed vigour. If they had been more human, I’d have said they were scared of what was coming. And if creatures like that were scared, how should I have felt?

Something that looked like a Snowfiend if one had been stretched to eight feet and packed full of muscle pulled its way through the gap. Its broad shoulders knocked chunks of snow off the edges and it roared a deep, bowel-shaking roar.

At that, the other Snowfiends threw themselves at us, either desperate to prove themselves or to escape the abomination. They slammed into our thin line with an impact that rippled along it. Their snarls became one with our grunts and curses and all I could see was a writhing mass of shadows.

I swung my mace overhead and felt it crunch through something. It came back with a clump of dark hair dangling from the head. A shape fell and the struggle opened up in front of me. The ground around the breach was blue with whatever it was the Snowfiends called blood. Twenty or thirty bodies lay in the space, but I couldn’t overlook the fact that in amongst the Snowfiends were several human corpses and I could very well be joining them before the night was out.

A larger group pressed at the centre of the line where Ileta and Orbur fought like Rhenwargs. One of the smaller Snowfiends peeled off the back of this group and looked for an easier target.

Its gaze settled on me and my stomach dropped out of my trousers. I swear it smiled as it ran at me, showing rotting teeth and the stump of a tongue, then it was close enough to see its eyes. Pale blue where they should have been white. The proximity of the Hunters either side of me meant I could only swing down. With a deftness I didn’t expect, the Snowfiend swayed aside and caught my mace on its shoulder rather than the crown of its head as I’d intended. It howled but kept coming and its fingers reached for my throat. If it latched on that would be it. It would choke the life from me as easily if I were a Cave Mouse.

I dropped the mace and lowered myself into a crouch. I’d wrestled with my father as a child, this was no different, other than the fact my father never wanted to rip my throat out with his teeth. I sprang forward and caught the Snowfiend by surprise. My shoulder crashed into its ribs. I had no idea if Snowfiends breathed like we did, but it seemed to be struggling. I came out on top and pressed my hands to its neck. The creature’s skin was cold as packed ice. Not only was it cool on the surface, there was nothing warm beneath it either. It gasped for air and I was certain I was going to kill it. Then something struck me on the side of the head and white flashes blinked in my vision. The Snowfiend rolled beneath me and I fell. In the blink of an eye our positions were reversed. The creature grasped for my throat and I kept it at bay, but my strength wouldn’t hold forever and already my arms were wavering.

“Sneak!” I managed a glance in the direction of the call. Ileta held a knife above her head. “Catch.” The weapon spun through the air and landed, quivering, embedded in the ground an inch from the end of my nose. I pulled it free and rammed it into the Snowfiend’s ribs.

It sighed and collapsed on top of me, blue ichor drenching the front of my clothes. Hands pulled it off me and hauled me upright.

I doubled over, vomiting onto the snow.

The only enemy left standing was the huge beast in the middle. A half dozen arrow shafts protruded from its chest as if they were no more than splinters.

“What’s that?” I huffed.

“Snowbrute. Nasty bastards, though I’m glad it wasn’t anything worse that found us,” Kernick replied.

Harunath ducked under an arcing slash and slammed his mace into the creature’s knee. I expected it to crash to the ground with its leg ruined, but the mace bounced off and the Snowbrute barely noticed. It caught Harunath with a backhand and sent him flying. The remaining Hunters fidgeted with their weapons but no one else dared take on the creature. The Snowbrute lumbered towards Harunath. I did think about helping, I really did, but adding another corpse to the pile would help no one. Though, if we didn’t bring the thing down, there would be no one left at all. We’d all heard the accounts of camps discovered abandoned. Then, the reasons had been speculation. Not anymore. I glanced over my shoulder to see scared faces peering out of it around the tents. Some cried. Some prayed. Some simply watched.

The Snowbrute curled foul fingers around Harunath’s leg and lifted him fully off the ground. I looked at the mace in my hand, pitifully small compared to Harunath’s, and smaller still when measured against the Snowbrute. The creature had both Harunath’s legs in an iron grip. If it wanted, it could have ripped the warden in half without exertion. For a moment, it held him up to its face, as if deciding if the struggling thing it held was worth eating.

Then a small shape arrowed from the direction of the camp, onyx black against the grey of promised dawn. I caught a flash of dark feathers, a shape like an eye splayed across its plumage. I’d seen this bird before, cast in metal. It flew at the Snowbrute’s head and jabbed its wicked beak at the creature’s eyes. The Snowbrute dropped Harunath in a heap and swatted at the bird. Blue ichor dripped down its cheek from the remnants of a ruined eye. The bird circled and dove in again like it had been sired by a Frosthawk and this time I saw the moment its beak plunged into the Snowbrute’s other eye. The beast roared in agony, stumbled back and fell over the piled bodies of the Snowfiends. Shaking himself off, Harunath took up his mace and strode a little unsteadily to where the Snowbrute pawed at its face, slick with blood. The mace went up and when it came down it stove in the creature’s skull.

As the Snowbrute twitched its last, I looked around for the bird. If it hadn’t been for that animal we’d all have been dead before morning. In the east, the sky was turning from grey to white as if to emphasize my thoughts. A flash of plumage caught my eye as a small black shape vanished behind the tents.

Harunath had already turned his back on the fallen creature and cast his gaze along the line of survivors. He grasped the shaft of his mace tight enough for the tendons on the back of his hand to stick out, and I fancied I saw his other hand shaking before he hid it behind his back. With a quick shake of his head, the warden was back to his usual self.

“Get those legs moving, these bodies won’t clear themselves. Drag the Snowfiends into a pile, but let’s give our fallen companions the courtesy of a proper burial.” The sharpness of the order snapped people into action.

Relief almost overwhelmed me. At least two thirds of us that formed that original defence had survived, but that meant a good few hadn’t. I knew I should have helped with the bodies, shown my respect to the dead and all that, but I had to find that bird. It wasn’t a coincidence I’d seen its likeness and now here it was, rescuing us from certain death.

I slipped away with a muttered excuse and hurried over to the tent the bird had vanished behind. I ducked inside and let my eyes adjust to the gloom. Seven or eight people huddled within.

“So, you made it out alive, I see.” Rawl sat bundled up in a heavy blanket. His wrinkled face showed neither fear nor alarm. In fact, he looked thoroughly bored by the whole affair.

“By the skin of my teeth. Say, did any of you see a bird at all? Small, black.”

Rawl scoffed. “A bird? There haven’t been birds since before, not ones that don’t want to rip your face off, anyway. You must be going mad.”

“Not yet, ask anyone out there. That bird saved all our lives.”

Michela climbed out from between her mother’s legs and tugged on my sleeve.

“Are we going to be alright now?”

I smiled and ruffled her hair. “We’re going to be just fine.” Clearly I wasn’t going to learn anything, so I left them to strike the tent and went back to the burial party who were hacking at the cliff face with whatever tools they could find.

By mid-morning, we were ready to move on. I slipped the yoke of one of the wagons around my shoulders, adjusting the straps until they sat as comfortably as possible. My bones already felt weary, like I could sleep for a hundred nights, and I didn’t know how long I’d last at the front there. Every adult deemed fit enough was assigned to a wagon. There would be no swapping out between here and the next Sanctuary.

“It’ll be dark by the time we get there, and it’s unmanned, but it has walls stronger than snow and a stock of fuel ready for us,” Harunath had answered when the inevitable question of how long we’d be walking for was raised.

We should have left just after dawn and we all knew it, but the dead wouldn’t bury themselves. I recited their names. Eight Hunters and ten travellers who’d never reach their destination. Their cairns lurked by the base of the crag. Shallow things that would barely stop the Frosthawks circling above from getting to the bodies, but it was the best we could do. We couldn’t even manage a white stone at the head. Just had to hope that they forgave us in Caenyss. Many had lost hope in a better place the other side of death. I knew better. I knew the Ilskini would be waiting for us until such a time that the snow drew back and the world returned to rights.

“Alright, get these wagons sliding or it won’t just be Snowfiends we’ve got to worry about.” With an order from the warden, I strained against the straps and we moved off in near total silence.

Once again, the weather held out, leaving smooth snow ahead and white skies above. We kept a good pace for most of the afternoon, talking only when we had to and entertaining our own dark thoughts. The only exception to this was Michela, who had reverted quickly to her usual inquisitive self.

As the sky darkened again, much too soon, the wagons drew closer as if the proximity of others would protect them.

“How far?” someone asked from the wagon to my right.

“Not as far as we had to this morning, but further than we would if we were there,” Ileta said.

“A typical warden answer, that,” said Rawl, perched atop my wagon, looking like a bedraggled Cave Mouse. “Still, I know what’ll keep your mind off everything out there that wants to kill you. How far did I get last night? This old brain doesn’t hold things like it used to.”

“The scale,” Michela said without hesitation.

“Ah yes, Ashuto had woken from a dream. But what about Saphielle? I think we’d left her still trying to escape Lendas.”

Focusing on Rawl’s voice, I was able to ignore the pain in my shoulders and the aches in my legs.

Ashuto

Ashuto sat in the saddle and let the horse carry him onwards. He didn’t want to say it out loud, but he was becoming, if not a proficient horseman, then at least a passable one. The bruises on his arse had lessened and the skin on the inside of his thighs was no longer rubbed raw.

They’d left the raided village behind two days ago, and while they’d passed another couple, they hadn’t entered them. For that, Ashuto was grateful. There’d been an aura to the place, one that set the hairs on his arms upright. He’d been too distracted to notice when they’d first arrived, but by the second day, he’d felt it keenly. Like the screams of the murdered villagers still hung in the air. Not that he held much pity for them, it was their people, after all, who’d decimated Craydon. Still, the tingling sensation on the back of his neck had made the next day and night they spent in the village more uncomfortable than the open stable.

“Wind taken your wits?” Wilden asked.

Ashuto blinked. He must have been staring into the middle distance. “Just thinking about what we might find, you know, over there.” He gestured at the horizon.

“Well, enough of that. Get up that hill and see what’s beyond. This is where our job begins and I’ll be damned if we miss anything.”

Ashuto sighed inwardly and nodded. At least it would get him away from Wilden for a time. The Outriders’ ambivalence towards the mapmaker was now plain to see and it was making Wilden mad. He so desperately wanted to be taken in by the soldiers, but his role as a civilian prohibited that, and there was nothing he could do to change it, no matter how hard he tried. The constant grovelling and flattery ground on Ashuto’s nerves. It was debasing and it tarred him with the same brush. Not that he cared about the Outriders’ opinions, but to be seen in the same pathetic light as his master was not fair.

He kicked his horse into a gallop and left Wilden behind. It was a bright morning and the smell of warm grass blossomed as his horse pushed through the tall stalks. Insects chirped amongst the tufts and a pair of small yellow birds flitted in and out of the foliage in front of him. Before long he reached the hill and urged the mare up the slope.

Above the seed heads, pillars of stone appeared amongst the golds and greens. The more he looked, the more he saw, covering almost the entire hill in concentric circles. A strange sense of having been there before took hold of him. He recognised the standing stones, the stretch of grassland leading to the horizon and the broken field of crags and boulders in the distance. He was sure he’d already watched the column of riders cross the plain but for the life of him he couldn’t remember where he’d seen it.

There was something that didn’t sit right, however. As if one major detail had been changed. As if something that should have been there was missing. He reached the crown of the hill and dismounted. There was something he wasn’t seeing and – he trod down a clump of waist-high grass and a half-buried object reflected sunlight back at him. He pulled it from the clutches of the soil and brushed the mud off on the hem of his short cloak. It was about as large as his palm and a finger-width thick. One side was pure white and rough like granite. The other side was like the inside of an oyster shell, reflecting the light with infinite iridescence and smooth as steel. Its shape reminded him of the shields the Unbreakables carried. A fierce cold passed from the object into his palm.

He gasped and dropped to his knees as the vibrant memory of his dream returned, thrusting vivid detail directly into his brain. The hill, the creature and the ambush.

The crags in the distance appeared lifeless apart from the crows that soared lazily above them. Surely it had only been a dream. Yet there was the scale that had fallen from the creature. He looked up, half expecting to see the sporadic clouds broken by enormous wings and the creature to swoop down, but the sky stayed empty and bright.

The column was maybe half a mile from where the terrain changed. There was still time to warn them of the ambush, but he hesitated. What if it had been a mere dream? What if he rode down there with the message and there turned out to be nothing but rocks and ravens? But what if he was right? He shoved the scale into a pocket, pulled himself onto his mount and dug his heels into the horse’s flanks. The mare leapt forwards and they cantered down the slope between the standing stones.

The scouts catcalled and jeered as he rode past, but he ignored them. If his hunch was correct, they’d all be thanking him later.

“Commander Kalenach,” he shouted as he reached the front. The woman who’d addressed them on the first night in the village turned in her saddle to fix him with a glare.

“Who are you? And what do you want?”

“I’m Ashuto Ahearn, commander, apprentice mapmaker to Master Wilden. I’ve studied the lay of the land from atop that mound, and I believe we’re at risk of attack.”

Kalenach laughed humourlessly. “I don’t think so. I’ve had scouts ranging a league ahead for the last few days. If they haven’t found even a hair of the enemy, they aren’t there.” She turned away, dismissing him.

Ashuto kept level with her. “I’m serious, commander.” How could he convince her? Wasn’t as if he could say he saw it in a dream. They’d either have him kicked out or sent to the Noxa with the gift of prophecy. Neither option appealed to him. “The terrain is such that a large number of enemy soldiers could hide in the natural tunnel systems under the crags and avoid detection by mounted scouts.”

She looked set to dismiss him again, then tilted her head. “Tunnels, you say?”

“Yes, commander. Between the outcrops.” He was only half lying. There could well be gullies and crevices worn amongst the outcrops, and it wouldn’t take much to hide amongst them. “If I’m wrong, I’ll dig the latrines every night until we get back home.”

“Well then, that’s a brave gamble. You hear that, folks, this quill pusher will shovel our shit from here to Lendas and back again if those crags are devoid of the enemy.” The Outriders in earshot chuckled. “So we’re going to call a halt here and send first and second squad to see what’s out there.” She raised a fist and the line of riders stopped dead, apart from Wilden, who carried on another few yards before getting his horse under control.

Commander Kalenach dismounted and gathered half a dozen officers into a huddle a short distance away. Their helmet plumes fluttered as they nodded.

“What’ve you gone and put your foot in now?” Wilden asked, riding up beside him.

“The ground in front is the perfect place to launch an ambush, so I warned the commander about my concerns,” he said with a nonchalance he didn’t feel.

“You went straight to the commander? You should have come to me first, so I could slap the stupid idea out of your head.”

“With all due respect, Master, if I’m right, we’d all be dead before the news got any further than you. And if I’m wrong, well, you won’t have to worry about me after that.” While he was talking, two squads of five riders left the main group and looped around towards the crags in a pincer approach. Commander Kalenach shouted an order and the remaining Outriders formed up into a wedge. Ashuto and Wilden kept well out of it.

The advance squads slowed as they reached the crags and drew their sabres. Then they were gone from sight and the waiting began.

“Can you see anything?” Ashuto whispered.

“Nothing,” said Wilden, his rage already dissipated.

Another few minutes went by. Ashuto shifted in his saddle, alternating from stretching to see the distant crags to slumped against the mare’s neck, unable to watch.

A sound carried on the air. A shout. Then more.

A line of black-armoured riders appeared from between two of the largest crags, galloping hard for the plain and the waiting formation of Outriders. Behind them streamed a glinting serpent, each of its writhing segments an Alliquean soldier. Fifty. A hundred. Two hundred fighters poured into the plain. Far more than he’d expected. The dream had exaggerated every other aspect of itself and to see that number of soldiers made his legs weak. Even if the Outriders matched them in number, a battle was never a sure outcome.

That didn’t seem to bother Commander Kalenach. She raised her sword high above her head and chopped it down. The wedge started forward, slowly at first but picking up speed with every yard until their hooves threw up a thick cloud of dust.

The crash as the wedge smashed into the half-formed wall of steel was deafening. The force of the impact had torn a hole in the defensive line and the Outriders set about the scattered enemy with brutal efficiency. The top of the wedge burst out the back of the Alliqueans and peeled round to trap them between the two claws. With their escape cut off, the enemy redoubled their efforts. More than a dozen Outriders were hauled from the saddle. Ashuto found he was holding the scale and a sense of joy seemed to radiate from it, into his skin, filling him. Oh, to ride in there and drive a sword through the nearest Alliquean. Feel their blood, warm and thick, on his skin. Watch as the light faded from their eyes.

He hurriedly dropped the scale back into his pocket and the bloodlust dissipated. Never in his life had he had such thoughts of violence. So vivid and primal it scared him. Were they his thoughts? Or was he feeling the vestigial emotions of the creature that had shed the scale?

Despite the fierce resistance, the Outriders soon overpowered the enemy. Commander Kalenach dispatched the final one and a roar of triumph went up from the surviving Outriders. Like that, it was over. The sun had barely moved above them and two hundred bodies now bled into the earth. An echo of red emotion made him shiver.

The commander removed her helmet. Her shock of frizzy hair leapt out again.

“Where’s that map maker’s boy? I want him brought to me.” A rider snapped a salute and brought their mount round, but there was no need.

“I’m here, commander. I wanted to see it all up close.” He rode forward into the throng of soldiers. This time there was no jeering and he stopped in front of the woman.

“I owe you an apology, Ashuto Ahearn. You were quite obviously right. I wager your little gamble saved the lives of everyone here. I’m humble enough to admit I’d have likely ridden right in there and put everyone under my command at risk. So, thank you. I think you and I should talk more over the next few days. Watch for my summons.” The Outriders cheered again and Ashuto basked in their admiration and thanks. As the applause petered out, he started to feel self-conscious amongst the armoured riders.

“What are you playing at, boy? You’re going to get us all killed if you keep running off like that, especially into a skirmish.” Wilden appeared, out of breath despite having ridden, at the edge of the battlefield. He looked distastefully at one of the bodies.

“Actually, this lad had done the opposite. He’s something of a lucky charm,” Kalenach said.

Wilden scoffed. “This one? One lucky guess and you treat him like Amul himself walking among us? Never thought I’d see the day.”

“You’ll be seeing far fewer days than you might have hoped, if you keep talking to me like that. Bitterness is a trait I dislike in those under my command, so I suggest you keep your tongue in your head and give your protégé the credit he deserves.”

With the mapmaker put firmly in his place, the commander turned her back on him. Only Ashuto caught the sharpened look Wilden thrust his way.

For the rest of the day, Ashuto rode alongside the commander. The Outriders around them appeared to shed the burden of killing as easily as slipping off a cloak, but he felt it keenly. The intense pleasure of watching the Alliqueans fall and the revulsion quickly after. Both combined to leave him an empty husk, nodding and replying in single syllables when the commander’s words required a response.

At some point that evening, they stopped amongst the crags, now devoid of the enemy. The wind whistled through the cracks in the stone, sounding like the ghosts of those who hadn’t survived the day. They’d brought a single tent. A big canvas thing that took five people to erect and that night they set it up between two cliffs. The summons came an hour after dark. An Outrider found him huddled around a fire on the outskirts of the camp.

“Ahearn, the commander wants to see you.”

Wilden snorted. “Can’t keep your mistress waiting.” He laughed to himself and sloshed the wine from his skin down his front in a long, red stain. “Go on, get yourself gone.”

Ashuto pushed himself up. The warmth of the fire faded quickly. It wasn’t as if he wanted to leave, but he’d been ordered to. Wilden’s protestations were entirely unreasonable. He hadn’t asked for this, as much as he wasn’t upset it was happening. At least his usefulness was being recognised. He wrapped his cloak tighter around his shoulders and followed the Outrider to the commander’s tent.

The soldier coughed loudly at the door of the tent.

“Enter,” came the commander’s voice from within. The tent flap was pulled back and Ashuto stepped inside. The floor was grass and the interior sparse, a small rug covering the turf in front of a small desk which Commander Kalenach perched behind. She picked up a decanter and poured two large measures of an amber coloured spirit. The corner of the map it had held down curled back on itself.

“Take a drink.”

He took the glass and raised it to his lips. Smoke and sugar hit his nostrils. The first sip seared the back of his throat but left him with a pleasant taste.

“Like it?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“Good. I don’t give it out to just anyone. You clearly have a talent that can be of use to this unit. I want to discuss with your how we can utilise it going forward. I have your master’s map here, I want you to take a look at it with me.” Smoothing the map back down, Kalenach replaced the decanter and pointed to an area. “This is where we’re going to perform a brief campaign disrupting any supply operations we come across. Can’t march an army on an empty stomach. That goes as much for them as it does for us. I need you to study this map and select a number of areas you think will be suitable to set up our own ambushes, and indeed to avoid any others that may have been set. Then you’ll go out with a small escort and get eyes on these locations to make sure it is what you expect. Sound straightforward enough?”

Ashuto fought to maintain his composure. The commander was putting the fate of the whole regiment in his hands based on the assumption he could read terrain like a book. It wasn’t entirely untrue. He could tell you where a water source was likely to be, or how steep a hillside was, but those things were irrelevant when it came to what he was being asked to do. All the captain wanted was for him to identify the best places for killing.

“Yes, captain, but I don’t understand why you’re trusting me to make decisions as important as these.”

“Quite simply, I feel you’re the best person for the job. You showed clear initiative today. It’s a quality I require in those I let into my trust. Not that you’re there yet, but you’ve made a good account of yourself. If you keep this up, I’ll make sure you get the progression and recognition you deserve.”

They spoke for another hour or so as the decanter became emptier and emptier. Eventually though, Ashuto’s eyes were drooping.

“Alright, that’s enough for tonight,” Kalenach said through a yawn. “You will spend the next day in here, with this map, and you won’t talk to another human until you’ve found what I need from you.”

Ashuto bade her goodnight and ducked out into the cool air. The stars were scattered runes of light above. He picked out those he could remember and followed them with his finger. The task he’d been given was not a minor request. Whatever he decided could change the fate of the Outriders. Find the right place and they could strike a blow that took out a chunk of the enemy forces from the main battle. Get it wrong and the entire regiment could be annihilated. Just a few things to think about overnight.

Wilden grunted and turned his back as Ashuto reached the mapmaker’s fire.

“You won’t see me tomorrow. Commander Kalenach has given me a task that’ll take all day,” he said.

Wilden swivelled on his rock, an exaggerated smile plastered on his face. “How good for you. Do remember to extract your tongue from her arse at some point, wont you? I imagine it gets hard to breathe down there.”

“It’s nothing exciting.”

“Oh, but it is. You, with your measly experience and a lucky guess, receiving the plaudits that should be mine. Well, when you screw it up I won’t come riding in to save you. You’re on your own now, boy, and good luck with it.” He rose and staggered off into the camp.

Saphielle

Saphielle and Yolene arrived at the door of a small but pretty dwelling with plants growing up the frontage and around the windows in a respectable part of the city, mostly inhabited by artisans and merchants. Yolene knocked softly on the door and they waited. There was movement on the other side, then the door swung open a crack and a wrinkled face peered out.

“Oh, it’s you. Come on in, then.” The door opened fully and Yolene ushered Saphielle inside. Once inside, the door was swiftly closed, shutting the night out and bathing them in the warm glow of a candle.

“So, you have taken leave of your senses, then?” The person who’d let them in asked. They turned around a little way down a well-appointed hallway to reveal black hair cut close to the scalp and bright eyes which hinted at a sharpness not dimmed by advancing years.

“Always the charmer,” Yolene replied. “Nana, meet Princept Saphielle, daughter of King Haradrok, heir to the throne and cause of all this trouble.” Nana appraised Saphielle like Dain Baku inspecting the horses he procured for the Noonguard and Saphielle had the uncomfortable feeling of being judged.

“Doesn’t look like much,” Nana said after a while.

Yolene laughed. “Ignore her, Saph. She’s been grumpy for as long as I’ve known her, which is to say my entire life. You’ll never believe it, but she was a respectable member of society once.”

“Respectable or not, I can still tan your hide, Yolene Sim Manu.”

“I have no doubt about that, it’s more your nursing skills that I hope you’ve retained. As I told you, Saphielle and I have to leave Lendas but we can’t take Mirabelle with us. Where we’re going isn’t safe for a toddler.”

“Where’s this child you want me to keep alive, then?” Nana poked at the wrap around Saphielle’s chest. Saphielle unwrapped the binding and Mirabelle peeked out, chubby cheeks flushed and pink. She giggled as Nana eyed her up.

“Hello.”

“This is my daughter,” Saphielle said.

“I’d be worried if it was somebody else’s. A shame that royal blood can’t ensure your baby isn’t ugly.” Saphielle almost retorted but Nana continued, unaware of the insult she’d just delivered. “Though this is nothing compared to how Yolene looked when she was born. I tell you, she looked like a toad with her big eyes and skin like it came from a girl two years older than her. Almost had to peg it back so she could see.” She took Mirabelle in her withered claws and the girl placed a tiny hand on the woman’s furrowed face. “Doesn’t want for feeding, does she? Is the girl off the teat?”

“Yes, she has been for almost a year.”

“Good, and how does she sleep?”

“Fine, mostly. She still wakes most nights but goes back to sleep quick enough. Why are you asking all these questions?” It wasn’t as if Nana could refuse to look after Mirabelle, was it? Anyone else and Saphielle was sure she could lean on her royal rank to ensure their cooperation, but the old woman would probably double down out of spite.

“I’m not some serving wench you can order around. I will take care of the girl, not because of her blood, but because Yolene has asked me to and I trust her.”

Saphielle instinctively hugged Nana with Mirabelle caught between them.

“Thank you. I promise you’ll be rewarded when I return. Don’t let anyone say I don’t pay my dues.”

“I don’t want your payment. Yolene has told me enough about why you have to leave for me to work out the rest. Go and do what you need to do, and I’ll look after Mirabelle. Your father won’t find her until you send a message saying you want me to pass her over.”

“Your kindness won’t be forgotten. Not by me, and I’ll make sure Mirabelle knows it too.”

Yolene rose from her chair closest to the door. “We should be going. There’s a long way to go and not as much time as we need.” She took the older woman’s hand in hers. “Nana, I don’t know what I’d ever do without you.”

“Starve probably, or something equally silly.” Though the reply was as sarcastic as everything else she’d said, Nana looked away quickly and there was a glimmer of dampness in the corner of her eye.

Saphielle took Mirabelle back and held her tight against her chest, picturing every detail of her daughter’s face. Her corn-flower blue eyes and hair of spun silver. Cheeks like halves of ripe apples.

“Mummy has to go away again. Not for long, but Nana will look after you until I get home. Will you be a good girl for her?”

“Again? I’ll miss you.”

“I know sweetheart, it won’t be for long. I’ll miss you, too, and I’ll think about you every minute of the day. Can you be the best girl?”

“Yes!” Saphielle kissed her again. She handed her daughter back to Nana and tore out part of her heart as she did so. Yolene gave her a comforting smile. It couldn’t dull the ache that was already building inside her, but it was good to remember she wasn’t going to be alone. Yolene pulled the door open a crack and peered outside.

“Is it clear?” Saphielle asked.

“As far as I can tell. Let’s make it swift.” With a final farewell to Nana and Mirabelle, the pair of them slipped back out into the night.

Ashuto

Once again the sky was a stark white.

He stood alone, staring up so all he could see was the pale expanse. Then the babble of running water trickled into his mind and he remembered there was more to the world than sky. He was standing in a river, though he remained dry. Wide, shallow, the crystal water played over rocks or ran between them, chasing itself along its course. His reflection distorted with the turbulence. It would have been pleasant, if not for the shadows which grew to line the river’s banks like brambles. Dense walls of it that only ended where they met the sky. Did he know the place? Some part of him thought he did, or that he was going to. He walked downstream, through the corridor the shadows created. It was silent other than the water. An eerie silence that didn’t belong.

The river curved gently. Around the bend it narrowed and deepened so that in a matter of steps it went from his ankles to the middle of his thighs. A stone bridge spanned the eight feet of water a little way down, each end disappearing into the shadow. Part of the blackness pulled itself away and into the shape of a person, which then split into two and both of those split again and again, all still as statues. They were armed though, that much was obvious, and one at the front wore a plumed helmet he recognised as Alliquean. As one they swivelled and started across the bridge. There was no haste to their movements and now they were animated they appeared as any other group of comrades, ignoring their lack of features. Halfway across the bridge, the silhouette at the front removed its helmet and wiped their forehead with a shadowy arm. Something dark flitted from the far side. The figure stumbled then fell. More streaked through the air and hit the other figures. Then other shapes peeled from the other side of the bridge and met those already on it in silent battle. The skirmish was short, the new assailants overwhelming the silhouettes that Ashuto had first seen.

A rush of wind buffeted the back of his neck and he turned away from the fight. The creature pumped its wings again, rippling Ashuto’s hair like storm winds, then landed in the river. Or rather, through the river, as the water didn’t move at the creature’s presence. It had always been enormous in Ashuto’s mind, but seeing it there before him, the beast was gargantuan. He had to crane his neck right the way back just to see its face. The creature stared down at him with eyes as clear and blue as ice.

“Just as I have chosen you, you have chosen my token,” it said, though its mouth never opened. “My scale. I knew you would.”

“You’ve chosen me? How? Why? What are you?”

“There are simple answers to all those questions. You recognised me. That moment you first saw me from afar, I felt your soul touch mine. I know you better than you know yourself. I know that you want to capture the world on parchment, that you wish to see the mountains over which I soar, and that you desire recognition for your skill. Power, even. And I can give you that. As for what I am? I am myself, and nothing less, but I have been called the Great Wyrm by those who do not understand me. For now, you may call me that too.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I am old. I have had time to learn things, and you are easy to read. My token gives me the ability to see more of you than of others.”

“But what could you possibly want from me?”

“See, you’re sharp enough to realise this is a mutual agreement. I foresee a time of great change, where the old Goddesses and Gods shall fall and I shall rise to take their place, but I cannot do this alone. I need a champion amongst humans to fight my cause, and to ultimately share in my glory. I need you to be that champion for me.”

“I don’t understand. You wish to replace the Ilskini? They’re our protectors and benefactors. They–”

“They are nothing but a blight. You say they protect you, but it was Simetra’s arrow that reduced your hometown to ruins. Where was your God Amul then? Your so-called protector. I can show you what they have done.”

“I don’t want to–” He was cut off again as the walls of shadow fell in on him like black mist. When the darkness drew back, he was standing in the market square. People milled around, moving from stall to stall, chatting or drinking. There was a carnival atmosphere in the air. The aroma of cooking meat wafted through the crowd and a few strains of fiddle music fought to be heard. Children waved miniature regimental banners as they darted between the adults’ legs.

“Everything looks fine,” Ashuto said brightly. He’d expected it to be far worse. Maybe the burning arrow had only hit part of the town, or missed it entirely.

“Alas, what you are seeing is the past. You might remember this day, for it wasn’t all that long ago.”

He studied the scene closer. Lucas the Last wore a black tunic with the Unbreakables symbol daubed crudely in red paint. Now when would the cobbler have worn something like that? It dawned on him slowly and terribly.

He lifted his eyes to the sky and the flaming form of the arrow appeared over the town wall. There were gasps and cheers, just as there had been when the column had first seen that terrible light. He wanted to shout, to warn them all to run.

“It wouldn’t help. They can’t hear you. They’re nothing but memories now,” the creature said.

Ashuto stood affixed as the burning arrow drew closer and bigger and brighter. Then it landed. Time slowed, but whether that was an effect of the arrow or another part of the creature’s magic, he didn’t know. A great gout of flame leapt skywards and billowed out into a mushroom that roiled above the town, raining droplets of fire. The flames on the ground rushed outwards. Everything in their path blacked and crisped and burnt but when the fire touched Ashuto it was cool. It was only he who benefited. Lucas the Last ran screaming from his stall, his jerkin and hair ablaze, skin blistering, before the onrushing fire consumed him.

“I think you’ve seen enough.”

The shadows swirled once more. When they retreated, Ashuto was stood in the same spot, only the fire had burnt out and the gutted remains of Craydon were all that surrounded him. For a hundred yards in all directions there was nothing but ash and rubble. Not even a wall stood to remind him of what had once been there. Beyond that, some of the buildings had survived. In amongst the ruins, figures picked through the detritus. Skeletally thin.

“Is this real?” Ashuto asked, gesturing at the scene surrounding him.

“That depends what you mean by real. I haven’t physically transported you to Craydon, I don’t have that power in the living world. These are merely shadows, shaped by my will, but what they show is a true representation of the destruction caused by the followers of Simetra, and this is not the only example. Across the centuries, the Ilskini have played with the lives of humans as if you were no more than toys to be used and thrown away.”

As the Great Wyrm spoke, more images of flashed through his dream. Ruined cities. Armies crashing together, tearing each other apart. Rivers and lakes turned to blood.

“This is why the Ilskini must fall,” the Great Wyrm said. “They are selfish, focused only on their own desires. It is time they were toppled from their thrones and I need you to achieve that.”

Ashuto was silent for a moment. He turned slowly, taking in every aspect and committing it to memory. Since he could understand words, he’d been taught that Amul protected them, but where was the proof of that? His grandparents had been forced to flee from Rhondal by King Haradrok’s soldiers, and they were the lucky ones able to escape. In the years since, Alliquis had destroyed dozens of settlements. Amul had not protected them. Now Crayford lay desolate, his family’s bones among the rubble. Amul did not care.

He never had.

All those souls dependant on a God who saw them as less than nothing. The Alliqueans who worshipped a Goddess who could countenance such destruction. They had taken everything from him, now he would do the same to them.

“What do I need to do?”

“Simetra has chosen a champion of her own and between them they intend to destroy me before I can strip them of their powers. I’ve spoken to her champion in the same way I am speaking to you now, but alas, the Goddess’ magic was enough to prevent me learning the champion’s identity. Root them out and prevent them from reaching Simetra’s Peak. If you can do that, I promise you’ll have your revenge. You must do this, or between them they could overcome me.” The creature’s ice-blue eyes pierced him.

“I’ll find them, but how will I know who it is when I come across them?”

“They’ll have a token, a favour from Simetra, just as you have my scale. Simetra’s is a flamestone arrowhead. Find the arrowhead and you’ll find the champion. My token will assist you in locating Simetra’s champion, but all help has a cost. If you mark it with your blood, the token will become like ice in their presence. Similarly, it possesses the ability to protect you, but I do not tolerate weakness in my champion. If you desire my protection, you must prove yourself worthy first. Mark my token with the blood of that which you desire shielding from. Only then shall I choose to defend you, or not. Finally, there is enough of myself within the scale to do this three times. Once you have used these charges, you’ll need to expose it to a new moon, when none of Simetra’s own power may interfere.”

“I won’t fail you.”

The creature nodded and Ashuto was falling back into the shadows which had sprung up around his feet.

He jolted awake, cold sweat on his forehead. He stared at the moon, its thin sliver barely glowing. It’d be close to a full cycle before he could renew the power of the scale. Simetra’s champion likely hailed from Alliquis. Only when he was close to Simetra’s champion could he use it. He lay his head back and thought about what the champion might look like. Tall, probably, and strong too. A formidable warrior, and the creature had chosen him to stop them.

Ashuto

“We’ll be out of these trees in a couple of hours,” Captain Mead stated.

“You said the same thing a couple of hours ago,” one of the Outriders at the back of their small group replied. Mead whipped round in her saddle and glared at the soldiers following her.

“Which one of you shit lickers said that? This may only be a reconnaissance patrol but I’m still your godsdamned captain.”

Ashuto picked out the guilty soldier instantly, a red flush colouring Kester’s cheeks. The soldier had an unruly streak to him. Didn’t like authority, from what Ashuto had seen.

“Any more lip like that and you’ll all be on half rations when we rejoin the others.”

“When does the Deepseer think we’ll get out of this bloody forest?” Sefia asked. She was the sergeant who’d denied him wine and then asked him to join her fire after the rout of the Alliqueans. Since then, she’d become something of an apostle, asking him for insight on every aspect of the campaign. Usually, he managed to divert her attentions elsewhere, but this time all eyes were on him.

“I’m sure the captain is right. We’ll be out the other side by the end of the day.” Despite him saying only what Captain Mead had said just minutes before, his answer seemed to lift the spirits of the group. This was the third day since they’d left the majority of the Outriders. The going had been easy but dull and there had been comments, out of Mead’s hearing of course, that this was a waste of time.

The main body of the Outriders continued towards the capital under the commander, but Captain Mead, a score of Outriders and Ashuto had been assigned a different purpose.

“Hold!” Mead reined her horse to a stop and slid nimbly off the saddle. “There are tracks here, fresh ones. Draw your weapons and be ready. We don’t want any surprises.” Ashuto’s mind went straight to the vision of the bridge. It had been lurking there ever since, not allowing him to truly relax. But they were in the middle of the forest without even the hint of a river or a bridge nearby. Who knew when the events in the dream would transpire, if they ever would? Just because it had happened once was no guarantee it would happen again.

Around him, the Outriders drew their sabres. Mottled light danced along the blades, a stark contrast to their dark armour. His breakfast turned in his stomach. If they came across the enemy now, he’d be right in the midst of it with nothing but a quill to protect himself.

“They came this way, probably no more than an hour ago. I guess now is as good a time as any to tell you what we’re doing. While it’s true the Outriders have been tasked with keeping the Alliquean army penned back to the capital, we’ve been given a second task too. Infiltrate the city and do everything we can to prevent them using that weapon against us again. The only problem is that we know next to nothing about what it was or how they loosed it at us. So we’ve split from the others to recce the capital from a different angle and slip in if we can. To do that, we need to make sure we reach the city undetected, which means we kill any enemy soldier or civilian we come across.”

There was a chorus of murmurs. A covert mission?

He was an apprentice mapmaker, not a soldier. What had Kalenach been thinking when she assigned him? He knew the answer as soon as he’d thought of the question. His skills with ink and parchment meant nothing now they thought he could predict the future. He’d briefly tried to argue against his selection, but there was nothing he could say. It wasn’t as if he could explain he’d spoken to the Great Wyrm and was now searching for Simetra’s champion. However, Lendas was as good a place as any to start looking.

The tracks had shown they were trailing only half a dozen people, but they couldn’t tell if they were woodsmen, farmers or Noonguard. As the sun reached its zenith, Mead’s fist shot up. The Outriders instantly pulled their horses up and Ashuto almost ran into the back of them. Damn hand signals. One day he’d get the hang of it. Thankfully he had a well-trained horse. Mead pointed through the trees where a flash of blue feathers darted between the foliage. Five fingers went up. The Outriders dismounted in silence and drew their swords with a whisper that melded into the rustle of leaves. In moments the Outriders had vanished into the trees. They moved like ghosts. Silent. Deadly. Ashuto sat still on his horse, abandoned and forgotten as so often happened around soldiers. This time, though, he felt exposed. A tiny bit of martial instinct told him something was wrong. The horses suddenly sounded like a storm of huffing and stamping. He swung a leg over the saddle and made to climb down, but the stirrup caught around his foot and pitched him face first into the dirt. Thank Amul the others weren’t around to see that. They’d never let him forget it. He brushed the mud from his face and headed into the trees.

The targets’ voices grew sharper. Five men in a small clearing, a couple perched on the fallen tree trunk which had opened up the space, the others standing around them.

“Who’da thought it, eh? Richer now in war than we ever was mindin’ these forests.” A hearty chuckle followed. He’d heard that tone before, in the markets and taverns of Craydon. Men who thought they were invincible. Thing is, it never took much to dissuade them of the notion, and three feet of steel to the gut would deliver the message nicely.

“Wanna cross our bridge? Well guess what, there’s a toll now. Pay up or else.” The talker, a sallow-faced man with greasy, thinning hair swung his wood axe through the air. The rest of the group look just as underfed and feral.

“Let’s not get greedy, boys. There’s still only five of us. Civilians only, and only if there’s no more than ten. We can still die like anyone else.” That had to be the leader. A tall man, with boyish looks and a light voice. Under his arm he carried a helmet with a great, blue plume billowing from the top. The same helmet Mead must have seen through the trees.

“If we stuck to your stupid rule you wouldn’t have a head piece as pretty as that one,” said the axeman.

“Yeah, well, we got lucky they weren’t expecting us. Deserters aren’t proper soldiers anyway.”

War did strange things to people. Not least turning woodsmen into bandits who murdered their own countrymen. At least it saved the Outriders from having to do it. This lot weren’t a threat, so Ashuto turned to make his way back to the horses. As he did, his heel landed on the dry end of a stick and it cracked with a noise like an explosion.

“What was that?”

“Came from over there.”

Ashuto looked back. The bandit leader had stuck the helmet back on and was stalking towards him. It would be a matter of seconds before they spotted him. A second figure appeared between the trees. Something glinted in their hand before they plunged it into the bandit leader’s neck below the helmet. They dropped to their knees and bright, arterial blood spurted from the wound. With a callous shove, the body fell into the undergrowth and was lost to sight. Before the remaining outlaws could react, Outriders emerged into the clearing. Their sabres flashed and the bandits died. For the first time, Ashuto understood how efficient and deadly these soldiers were. No green recruits here, only those who could kill without blinking.

“I thought I told you to stay with the horses.” Mead wiped blood from her dagger and returned it to the sheath. She bent down and retrieved the plumed helmet from the brambles. “No matter. No harm done this time. I think I’ll keep this as a bit of a trophy. One of many, if we’re successful.”

The Outriders returned from the clearing, their weapons back in their scabbards.

“If that’s the sort of sorry resistance we can expect, we’ve got nothing to worry about,” Setia joked.

The captain swapped the helmet for her own black one. “Don’t get complacent. They were peasants driven to extremes. We’ll face sterner tests than that. Back to the horses, all of you. There’s another twenty miles until we can think about making camp.”

As they returned to the mounts, Ashuto couldn’t help but think about the bodies they’d left behind. If the Outriders had simply carried on and ignored the woodsmen, they would still be alive. Wrong place at the wrong time. Mortality decided on an arbitrary meeting.

When they reached their horses, they mounted back up and continued along the road. Within the hour the trees started to thin and the light changed from dappled green to bright gold pouring in between the trunks. The path opened up onto a stone bridge with lichen covering its weather surface. Ashuto had that curious sensation of having been there before and this time he knew why.

“Everyone stop!” he shouted, causing his horse to flick her mane in alarm. They all turned in their saddles to face him. “I’ve seen this bridge before.” He expected them to laugh, but there was a rigid silence.

“The Deepseer speaks again. Tell us, what did you see? Do the enemy plan to ambush us again?” Mead wheeled her horse around and drew up alongside him.

“Not this time. In my vision I saw the enemy crossing the bridge and us surprising them. If my vision is true, we can lie in wait on the far side.”

“And you’re sure this is what you saw?”

“I’m certain.” If the previous vision had come to pass, why wouldn’t this one?

Mead considered the bridge and the tree line across the river. “We can’t let the enemy know we’re here, even our tracks could give us away. They wouldn’t waste many soldiers on patrols this far from the fighting, so if we take them out the forest is mostly ours. Alright, let’s do it. You eight, you’re with me.” She pointed at half the Outriders. “You too, Deepseer. We might need your vision. The rest of you, stay here and keep hold of the horses while we scout it out. I’ll signal you across when we’re ready.”

The selected soldiers dismounted and drew their swords, Ashuto with them, feeling helpless again without a weapon of his own.

“I tell you what,” the captain said, readjusting the looted helmet. “These are far more comfortable than the things we get issued.” She stepped into the bridge, the plume waving gently in the breeze that skimmed across the surface of the river, rippling the leaves that overhung it. As the Outriders followed, an icy dread sluiced down Ashuto’s spine, pooling in his gut like snowmelt. He’d seen this all before, from a different angle in the middle of the river

He’d made a terrible mistake. He knew what was coming next and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Mead reached the midpoint of the bridge and removed the helmet.

“I lied, it’s too big.”

The first arrow spat from the forest. It knocked her back, sending her staggering. The next arrow slammed into Kester’s chest and he toppled over the low wall into the water below. Sefia screamed and Ashuto span around to see her scrambling down the bank towards Kester’s body, leaking crimson blood into the river. That movement saved his life. An arrow hissed past his face and clattered off the wall, skittering away. Captain Mead looked up at him with an arrow jutting from beneath her collar bone. Her eyes contained a depth of confusion, and worse, betrayal. But he hadn’t meant for this to happen. It had been a misinterpretation. It wasn’t his fault. Yet the Outriders were dying whether he’d intended it or not. More bodies dropped around him and at the far end of the bridge Alliquean soldiers formed a wall. That cold sensation of dread had left him numb but now his feelings thawed and the tingling rush of fear flooded his body.

They marched onto the bridge with the inevitability of a rockslide. On the other side, the remaining Outriders gathered in a loose group. Their captain was down and their sergeant clung to a corpse in the river. A fight on an open plain with enough space to attack the enemy from the flanks. That was what they were formed for. Not this. The horses bucked as the scent of blood reached them. Ashuto assumed they’d have become accustomed to it, but perhaps without a rider on their backs to soothe them they reverted to their natural state. One stallion ripped its reins free and bolted back into the forest. The Outriders looked about ready to do the same and Ashuto wished they would. What could they possibly gain from standing their ground?

“Outriders, form up.” The order was given shakily, by a girl not much older than himself. He’d seen her around but had never interacted beyond a polite nod or smile. Her cheeks were rosy and her braided hair poked from the bottom of her helmet. If they’d met in Craydon, before all this, Ashuto could imagine them both having a frothing mug of ale and a dance. Now she was going to die because of him.

The line of Alliqueans was close enough he could see the colours of their eyes. As much as maybe it was right, he didn’t want to die on that bridge. He couldn’t die on that bridge. He had a duty to perform that was greater than his own crushing guilt. With a glance back at the Outriders, now in some semblance of a defensive wall, albeit without shields of their own, he vaulted over the low wall into the river.

A shooting pain ran through his ankle as he landed and stumbled. This time, the water rushed into his boots. Sefia turned her tear-streaked face to him but he hobbled past her, splashing thigh-deep through the river. There were a few shouts from the bridge. He thought he heard the word ‘traitor’ more than once, but then came the scream of metal on metal, followed by the screams of the dying. He nearly looked back. Nearly went back, but the scale in his pocket reminded him of his task. There was a certainty that settled around him, though, as he waded to the bank. He could never return to Wilden or the Outriders now. From that moment on, he was alone.

Pel

As Rawl finished, the wagons crested the narrow rise that Harunath assured us marked the final stretch to the Sanctuary. I strained against the harness and ignored the pain of the sores the straps had rubbed across my shoulders. A glimpse of the Sanctuary would give me that last burst of energy I needed to get there. Everyone not attached to a wagon flocked to the front for that first sight of the Sanctuary’s fires as night’s grip tightened on the world. There was a confused murmur at first, then audible gasps.

Ileta pushed to the front. Her hand flew to her mouth and she beckoned Harunath over with a fearful expression.

The big warden took one look before doing what he did best. “Nobody goes past me.” He put himself firmly between us and the Sanctuary.

“Get out of the way, you great lummox,” Rawl said. Harunath’s face turned stoney and Rawl must have realised he’d overstepped the mark as he didn’t say anything more.

I shrugged off the harness and rolled my shoulders to remind myself they did actually move. I wasn’t sure what I was going to see, but it wasn’t the sight that lay in the valley.

The Sanctuary was there to an extent. A square of blackness against the snow with its gates wide open. Not invitingly, though. One hung limply from a single hinge and the other swayed gently in the wind, its pitiful squeaking audible from where we stood. No fires awaited us. As far as I could tell, there was nothing living down there at all.

“Hunters, on me,” Harunath said, unable to hide the tremble in his voice.

They looked a pitifully small group as they split from the rest of us and formed up around the warden. I grabbed my mace from where I’d stowed it in the front of the wagon. After the Snowfiend attack it made me uneasy to be more than a few yards from the weapon. Not that I thought it would do much against anything bigger than a Snowfiend, but the solid haft of the thing imbued me with comfort when I held it.

“Come on now, Nutcracker. Let’s see what’s going on here,” I whispered. The only thing worse than knowing what had happened to the Sanctuary was not knowing.

“Have you named that mace?” Modrik asked with a grin.

“And what if I have?”

He winked. “Hey, each to their own. It can get lonely on the move. If you want to become emotionally attached to a smooth length of wood, that’s none of my concern.”

“It’d work better than whatever you have in your trousers, and it doesn’t make stupid comments. You going to check out what’s happened or not?”

Modrik’s fringe flapped across his forehead as he vigorously shook his head. “No chance. If they’ve come to harm, I’d rather be up here where I can run.”

“Suit yourself. You can keep Rawl and Ileta company. I’m sure you wouldn’t abandon the women and children in a time of danger such as this.” I left him glancing over his shoulder to where Ileta was unloading the maces yet again. My hand snaked down to Nutcracker’s handle, a loop of cord holding it to my belt. The black feather from Ileta’s Sanctuary brushed my skin. The bird had saved us all. I hoped by attaching part of it to my weapon, that luck would rub off on me.

I joined the rear of the group and got side-eye from Harunath but he didn’t order me back. Apparently my actions during the Snowfiend attack had been sufficiently trustworthy for him to soften. Ileta still distrusted me, though. It’d take more than killing a few Snowfiends for her opinion to change.

Without the wagon on my back, the going was easy. White became ash became charcoal in the time it took us to reach the Sanctuary gates and we were squinting into the night. A fire flared to life at the top of the hill and silhouettes moved across it back and forth. Better a fire to keep creatures of the darkness at bay and risk attracting whatever had befallen the Sanctuary than waiting in the open without a flame.

“Anyone got a torch?” I asked. If we were to walk into the lair of some monstrous creature, I’d at least like to see what it was that ate me.

“No light,” a Hunter called Carow snapped. “A Frosthawk does not need fire to hunt and neither do we.” While it was an admirable statement, I wanted to point out that Frosthawks could see a Cave Mouse from a mile away. There were times I could barely see my hand in front of my face. Not a fair comparison. I kept my mouth shut though.

Orbur gestured for us both to shut up. Her hands flashed a series of signs which I didn’t understand but everyone else seemed to. Harunath must have taken pity on me as he pointed at me, then at himself. Orbur stepped through the broken gates and the rest of the Hunters followed silently. In a blink they were gone, merged into the darkness like Rhenwargs against snow. I tailed Harunath in and as soon as we were through the gates we broke to the right, keeping tight to the wall.

I stared into the blackness. Tents and canopies, fires and stew pots all appeared in my mind’s eye, with people bustling around them. But here there was nothing. No movement at all, not even from the Hunters I knew were out there somewhere. It was impressive, really, their ability to move unseen and unheard. Harunath’s faint form stopped abruptly and I walked into the back of him.

“There’s something here, I can sense it.” And as he said it the hairs on the nape of my neck rose and I too had the feeling we weren’t alone.

“What do we do?” There were very few things that called the snowy wastes their home that weren’t deadly in one way or another.

“We wait. The Hunters are born for this sort of thing.” I unhitched Nutcracker from my belt and held it tightly in front of me. Under my clothes the weak warmth of my talisman heated a palm-sized circle on my chest.

Snowfiends weren’t known for invading established settlements. Solid walls defeated them most of the time and they’d learnt to leave them alone. Orbur had said they’d only attacked our camp as it was new and they were dense enough not to understand what it was. If there were more Snowfiends or Snowbrutes here, it was more likely that they’d wandered in through the open gates.

Unlikely to be Rhenwargs either. We were too far beyond their usual hunting grounds around the mountains. They were large, but the damage done to the Sanctuary gates was beyond them too. The same for Frosthawks. Wingspan larger than a human was tall, but those gates had been ripped open with sheer strength. Of all the creatures that were capable of such, I didn’t want to meet any of them.

There was a squeal from the centre of the Sanctuary. I leapt a foot into the air and almost brained myself with Nutcracker.

“What the fuck was that?” I asked.

The answer came a moment later as an amorphous shape barrelled towards us.

“Bone Sucker!” Harunath shouted. The sudden noise startled the animal and it altered its course. I swung Nutcracker at it anyway, just to show it I meant business. Harunath struck a small lantern and illuminated the things hide, grey like a week-old corpse.

It squealed again. With a source of light, the three arrows jutting from its back were plain to see. I heard the twang of the bowstring for the next one and a fourth shaft appeared. I’d have been quite happy to let the thing go, now I was assured it wasn’t going to kill me but the Hunters had other ideas. Arrow after arrow pierced its hide, making the Bone Sucker shriek with each hit. They weren’t natural predators, preferring instead to roam the tundra searching for meat to scavenge. While they could still kill you if you got in its way – knock you down by accident and consume you – it was most likely that it had been attracted by the stench of death that was impossible to hide. With a dozen arrows in it, the Bone Sucker shrieked a piercing shriek and collapsed in the open gateway.

More torches appeared throughout the Sanctuary, eventually providing enough illumination to see the place was empty. From flesh hungry creatures, at least. Where the main cooking pot should have been was a pile of bones. The Bone Sucker had stripped every bit of flesh and they glinted in the torchlight.

“There’s so many,” I said.

“I hoped they’d gotten away. Thought they might have abandoned the place rather than try and defend it. Should’ve known Chan would never leave here voluntarily.”

“How do you know they haven’t?” It was a pile of bones, after all. No defining features on them.

“See that helmet?” A ragged blue crest poked out of the snow near our feet and a small part of the rusted dome of the helmet beneath was partly visible.

“That’s theirs. Never saw them without it. Apparently, it was passed down from one of the Noonguard who’d fought at Brightfont.” Harunath dug it out and held it reverently. Half of one side had rusted through and there were dents all over it. I wouldn’t have trusted it to protect me. The warden carried it to the centre of the Sanctuary, plucked half a spear shaft from the debris at his feet and plunged it into the frozen ground. Then he placed the helmet on the shaft.

Orbur stalked over and stabbed a finger at the warden’s chest.

“I told you we should have dealt with it days ago. ‘It won’t dare to attack,’ you said. Now look. An entire Sanctuary massacred.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t think–”

“I can see that. You didn’t think and every bone here is on your head.”

“You can’t blame Harunath for this,” I said, stepping forward. “What did he do? Bar the door from the outside and release a pack of Rhenwargs?”

Orbur turned on me. “Can’t blame him? We’ve been tailed by a White Wyrm since we left his Sanctuary. Harunath demanded that we leave it be. If we ignore it, it’ll ignore us, apparently. That might work for some things, but not fucking that.”

My eyes widened and I turned them on the warden. “Is this true?”

Harunath’s head dropped. “I didn’t want to risk provoking it. Didn’t see this coming though. There have been Wyrm attacks on Sanctuaries before, when the creatures are starving or diseased, but only a couple had succeeded in getting past the walls. This scale of death is unprecedented.”

“An understatement.” I’d counted at least twenty skulls grinning at us out of the snow. “How long ago did this happen? Could the Wyrm still be around?” The last thing we wanted to do was bring everyone inside and provide the creature with another feast, but we all knew the risks of another night outside the walls.

“Hard to tell,” Orbur said. Her elongated nose twitched as she sniffed the air. “A Bone Sucker can clear the flesh off a corpse in an hour. All of this might have taken it a day? There’s no knowing how long they’d been here before that.”

“Then it might not have been a White Wyrm that did it, if it’s been following us, as you said.”

Orbur gave an exaggerated sigh. “We’ve not seen the Wyrm since before the Snowfiend attack. Those doors” – she pointed at the Sanctuary gates – “were torn open with sheer force. Not even a Snowbrute has that sort of strength. So either our Wyrm friend is responsible, or there’s another one skulking around the vicinity. You decide what’s worse.”

“Say you’re right then, and it was a Wyrm, is it still around here? Should we be expecting it to come back?” I glanced at the gates, half expecting a scaly white body to appear.

“I doubt it. That Bone Sucker would have made a decent snack and it was here long enough,” Harunath said before Orbur could respond.

Orbur shrugged. It wasn’t as reassuring a response as it could have been, but it was better than nothing. Harunath had clearly come to the conclusion that sleeping in the Sanctuary, White Wyrm or not, was better than another night in the open. At that moment I was keen to agree.

“You’re mad,” Carow said. “Staying here is like walking into a Rhenwarg den covered in meat dripping. It’s suicide.”

“It’s better than out there. You think a Wyrm would care if we were in the Sanctuary or camped outside it? At least we can defend ourselves better in here if it comes to it.”

“The others won’t like sleeping beside the dead,” I said.

“They wouldn’t have to know. I need everyone here to keep quiet about what went on. All they need to be told is that the people staying here unexpectedly left in a hurry.”

I don’t know why, but Harunath’s decision to lie to the party shocked me. I’d only ever seen him as honourable, if somewhat fastidious and stuck up at times. To deliberately mislead everyone over something as serious as this? That didn’t sit right with me.

“No,” I said.

Harunath folded his huge arms and stared down at me. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

“It’s not right to hide this from everyone. They deserve to know the truth, and to have a say in what we do next.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with the scrawny one. We can’t expect civilians to make the same sorts of choices that you or I would. More importantly, we can’t expect them to get behind us when the shit does hit the wall if we’ve not been upfront with them,” Orbur said.

“Fine, what do you propose then?”

“A vote,” I said. “Everyone gets to cast their lot armed with full knowledge of the situation. Whatever the outcome is what we have to do, whether we like it personally or not.” I said that in the full confidence that we’d be sleeping inside the walls that night. If the others were anything like me, and I knew they were, the prospect of walls that couldn’t be scaled or pulled down would be enough of a draw. That, at least, would keep the warden happy, even if he had to inform everyone of the Wyrm. I gave Orbur a look that said ‘that goes for you too’. She scrunched up her face but didn’t object.

“I suppose that would work. Signal the others to come in, then.” He passed me one of the torches and turned his back on me. I grasped Nutcracker in the other hand. Each step away from the Hunters tightened the cord of my nerves. Something moved in front of me and I leapt a foot in the air, bringing Nutcracker up to ward off the attack I knew was coming. When, after a few heartbeats, it didn’t, I shook myself off. A strange hissing noise came from behind me and I turned to see it came from Carow and Orbur. It took me a moment to realise they were laughing.

“Sacred of his own shadow,” Carow managed to croak between breaths. I gestured something obscene at them and left them to their mirth.

Three steps outside the gates was enough. I lifted the torch above my head and waved it in slow arcs. A short while later I was answered in a similar manner.

Once everyone was inside, we gathered in the middle of the Sanctuary around the pile of bones, which had been stacked neatly and covered with a scrap of canopy. Most people, myself included, shot regular glances at it.

“As you can see, a tragedy has occurred within these walls,” Harunath said, stood on the back of a wagon. “We don’t know the full facts of what transpired, but we believe that a White Wyrm,” – he took a breath and looked at Orbur, who nodded subtly – “probably the same one that has been following our party since we left my Sanctuary, attacked this place and slaughtered everyone inside.”

Several people gasped. Treti, Michela’s mother, pulled her daughter closer. The length of time Treti allowed Michela out of arm’s reach had fallen off a cliff since the Snowfiend attack.

“Why are we still bloody here, then? You all wish for death or something?” Rawl shouted.

“I’d rather be in here than out there,” Modrik said. “Do you fancy another battle against the next horde of Snowfiends that stumble across us?”

Harunath raised his hand for quiet. “That’s precisely why we’re going to vote on what we do next. You’ve been given all the facts.” Another pointed glare at me. “Those who wish to remain within the Sanctuary, please stand on my right. Those who would rather brave it beyond these walls, to my left. The choice with the most votes will decide what we all do. We have neither the numbers nor weapons to split the group. Make your choice.”

No one moved. All eyes remained fixed on the warden. I strode out from the group and stood on Harunath’s right hand side. As soon as I’d done so, the paralysis that’d stolen over them evaporated and they crushed forward.

Modrik appeared at my shoulder. “How was it in here?” he asked in a low voice.

“Honestly? Awful. I’ve never seen anything like it. When that Bone Sucker charged for the gate, I thought we were all going to die, until I realised what it was. We’re just damned lucky the Wyrm had gotten bored of this place. That’s not to say it mightn’t come back. What was it like waiting for us?”

“Just as bad. Rawl kept muttering about all the things that could have happened to you and we were beginning to think the worst until we saw your signal. I can’t tell you how relieved I was that you were all fine. Not least that we’d have had no chance without the Hunters. Sorry Pel, but you barely wobbled the scales.”

“No offence taken.” Most of the travellers had chosen to spend the night inside the Sanctuary walls. Some, including Rawl, were standing on Harunath’s far side. The numbers on that side, though, were bolstered by the Hunters. Every single one stood in a tight circle around Orbur, shaking their heads any time one of the few non-committed travellers chose the other side. Eventually, everyone except the two wardens had cast their vote.

“Sixteen for inside, fifteen outside,” Ileta announced after counting and recounting the number of heads.

“That leaves you and I, then,” said Harunath. “Ladies first.”

Ileta looked between the two groups, then slunk over to the Hunters. “Over to you, Han.”

Harunath wasn’t a man prone to changing his mind, yet he looked hesitant. The thought of a second night beyond the confines of a Sanctuary made me shudder. Sure, if the Wyrm returned then we would go the same way as Chan and their wards, but four walls and a gate we could shore up were far preferable to the nightmare that we’d been through. At least to my mind.

I caught a glimpse of Rawl, still cocooned in every blanket he could find, nose pointed out like a beak. His bright, dark eyes darted from Ileta to Harunath and then to me. He slowly inclined his head and I returned the gesture.

“We sleep here,” Harunath said, taking a step to his right. “Get some of those wagons up against the gate. It’s the best we can do in a pinch. I want a fire going and the tents up. We’ve wasted enough time as it is.”

Within the hour, camp had been pitched. If I blocked out the sight of the ruined gate and cairn of bones, I could believe this was a thriving, welcoming Sanctuary, though that veneer was thin as ice on tent skin. The Hunters took up their positions by the gate and on the watchtower built into one corner of the Sanctuary, and those not on duty joined us around the fires. Our meal was meagre and did little to shift the rock of hunger that had taken up residence in my stomach.

Michela crawled from her mother’s lap and poked the swaddled figure of Rawl. “Will you tell us more of the story?”

“I don’t particularly want to entertain a bunch of cretins who decided it was a good idea to sleep in a boneyard.”

“She won’t stop asking ‘til you do,” I said. “Anyway, it’ll take your mind off things.”

“Oh, it will, will it? Think Saphielle and Ashuto are going to be walking through meadows of wildflowers?”

“What’s a meadow? And what’re wildflowers?” Michela asked.

Rawl rolled his eyes. “Do they not teach children anything these days? Fine, I’ll regale you, if only to educate this waif.”

For the first time in days, I felt a tension ease from my back. Everyone else, too, sagged a little in their seats. We were safe as we could be, warm as possible and we had hot food in our bellies. It was as close to normal as we could manage.

Haradrok

King Haradrok’s footsteps resounded off damp stone walls. No natural light reached this far down, so torches were bracketed to the walls every fifteen or so paces. They emitted a flickering glow that made his shadow leap and dance, a thread of black smoke coiling from each one. Two guards stood outside one of the cells a little way ahead. As they saw him, they pulled themselves straighter and offered a crisp salute.

“How is she?” the King asked.

“She doesn’t eat. Doesn’t drink. All she does is sit there and stare at the door. I think her mind has gone,” replied the first of the guards, a short man with unkempt stubble and spots around his mouth. “Your highness,” he added hastily.

“I see. And have we got any useful information out of her yet?”

“Not yet, your highness. I think the means of persuasion have been too much and her mind is addled,” said the second guard, this one tall, thin and bald.

“Oh, you think that, do you?”

The second guard hesitated before answering. “I do, your highness. I think–”

Haradrok lashed out and caught him across the cheek. The blow made the back of his hand smart.

“You’re not employed to think. You’re here to keep that wretch alive until the people who are capable of useful thought can get to her. Is that clear?”

“Yes, your majesty.” He bowed low enough for Haradrok to see the pox scars on his shaved scalp.

“Good. I’m expecting the Archlucin to join us shortly. Once she arrives, let her in.”

“No need for that,” came a voice from further down the dungeon. “I’m already here.” The Archlucin stepped into the light. Her staff tapped the ground as she approached. “I’ve not been down here before and wanted to make sure I didn’t lose my way. It’s fascinating what people say when they think no one else is listening.”

The guards shifted uncomfortably. How Haradrok wished he could find an empty cell and leave the bloody Archlucin in it for a few days.

“Open it up,” he snapped. The enjoyment he’d hoped to get from questioning the prisoner was being sapped away already. The pockmarked guard pulled a large key from his belt and unlocked the cell door with an echoing clack.

The stench that wafted out when it was pulled open made Haradrok want to gag. He hid the impulse with a cough. Inside, the cell was dark and damp. The only light came through the open door and water dripped incessantly somewhere inside. After a moment, the shape of a person revealed itself. She sat against the wall in the far corner, unmoving.

The short guard hurried in, bringing light with him. The prisoner was in a state. She wore little more than a sack with holes for head and arms. Haradrok didn’t want to guess what the stains were. Her face was swollen. Eyes puffed up and purple. A dark streak of dried blood ran from her nose to her split lips.

“Is this your handiwork?” Haradrok asked the guard.

The guard sniffed and his eyes darted to the door. “Some of it.”

“And you learnt nothing?”

The Archlucin had appeared in the doorway. “‘Er lips are tighter ‘an a Lucin’s fanny. Erm, no offense, your holiness.”

“None taken, my Lucins take their vows of celibacy seriously.”

Haradrok almost laughed. Maybe Baylor wasn’t as aware of what her people were up to as he thought. He knew what was under their robes, and their blindfolds. There had been more than one Lucin who’d left his bedchambers in the early hours over the years since his beloved wife had passed.

“You, Firthenite, what’s your name?”

The prisoner turned her dark eyes on him. She looked as if she was about to speak, then spat at his feet.

Haradrok darted forwards and grabbed a fistful of matted hair. It would have been lustrous and full once, but her time in the cells had left it a dank imitation of itself. He hauled her up and slammed her against the wall.

“Your name,” he hissed in her ear.

“Go fuck yourself.”

Haradrok hurled her to the floor.

“Summon the Questioner, we won’t get anything out of this one without some proper persuasion.” The guard turned to hurry out of the cell, but his way was blocked by the Archlucin.

“Perhaps I could have a go?”

Haradrok fought to keep his eyes from rolling, but gestured her forwards all the same.

“Be my guest.”

The Archlucin’s staff tapped a steady rhythm and she came to a stop before the prisoner who was dragging herself up. Baylor squatted and reached out a pale hand to cup the prisoner’s filthy cheek.

“Come, my child. Though you may misguidedly follow Amul the Shieldbearer, you are still a daughter of Simetra, and I have a duty of care over all of us.”

This time Haradrok did roll his eyes. Duty of care? It wasn’t long ago that Baylor was extolling the virtues of wiping them all out for having the wrong statues on their altars. He didn’t buy the saccharine approach, and from her reaction, neither did the prisoner.

“I can tell you’re in pain, and you are angry, and I understand why. You feel we have unfairly targeted your nation and your people.”

The prisoner gave an almost imperceptible nod.

“But this is simply not true. There was no need for violence between our two countries, not until a holy building was desecrated. You see, yours is now a country of blasphemy and corruption, and as with all corruption, it must be rooted out.” With the last two words, the Archlucin dug her nails into the prisoner’s cheek. The suddenness of the violence caught the woman by surprise and she shrieked with pain. A streak of blood dribbled down underneath her chin.

“Now, we have a number of questions we wish you to answer. You can do so of your own volition, or else I shall invoke Simetra’s fire to burn the truth from you. Is that clear?”

The prisoner nodded.

“Good. We’ll start with an easy question. What is your name?”

“Mead. Captain.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now I trust you a little more, see. You answer my questions and I’ll make your imprisonment here more comfortable. A fair trade.”

Haradrok was impressed, not that he’d let the Archlucin know, of course. It could have taken the Questioner hours to extract even that sliver of truth.

“Well, captain. It’s fair to say that your forces have had the better of it in the field so far. We could pretend it’s down to training or morale or exemplary leadership, but we’re friends now, aren’t we? We trust each other.”

The prisoner’s head inclined half an inch in an uncertain nod.

“So why don’t you start by telling me about those arrows you’ve got your troops using. Surely you know the ones? They glow blue and cut through mirror armour like it’s parchment.”

There was no reaction and Haradrok felt a smug pang of satisfaction.

“Come now, you must know what I’m talking about, a captain such as yourself. Let’s start with an easy question. Have you seen one of these arrows? A nod is enough.”

The prisoner kept her eyes firmly on the wall behind Baylor. Her lip quivered. All things Haradrok could see that the Archlucin couldn’t.

“You’re a clever girl. Save yourself the pain. I’m not asking you to spill all of Queen Palona’s secrets.”

Not yet, anyway, Haradrok thought. Give that woman an inch and she’d take the whole damn country from under your nose.

Baylor sighed and drew back. “Perhaps the Questioner may be useful after all. I’ll need time to prepare the ritual for the Cleansing Flame and I can’t do it down here, out of Simetra’s sight. Let your torturer break through some of those defences in the meantime.”

Haradrok sneered. Even though the Archlucin was unable to see it, it made him feel better in a churlish sort of way. The prisoner continued to stare at the wall as if she could force it to open and suck her into it. He bloody hoped she could provide more information than the handful of her troops who’d been captured with her. Not one of them had given him anything helpful. They’d screamed and cried, shat themselves then died, and that was it. The Questioner had barely got started on most of them. Begged the question how they’d managed to win anything, let alone a pitched battle.

“Take this wretch to the court,” he ordered. “As for you, prepare your ritual if you must, but be quick. There might not be much left to perform it on.” He stepped back as the guard dragged the prisoner to her feet and out of the cell. The jangling of her chains met with the tapping of the Archlucin’s staff as she retreated in the opposite direction. Alone for a moment, the king’s thoughts turned to why he needed this information in the first place.

Every battle. Every skirmish. The reports all read the same. All of them featured those damned arrows. The armour Alliquis had spent centuries perfecting made redundant in an instant. Piled on top of that were the more sporadic but no less worrying reports of exploding projectiles that could eliminate an entire squad in mere moments. He needed to know more so they could begin to counter this new threat. His army’s edge was gone like frost before a fire. And that wasn’t the only thing he’d lost.

Suddenly, Haradrok’s knees felt weak and he had to lean against the cold cell wall for support. There was a skin of dampness on the stone but he leant into the sensation rather than recoil from it. It grounded him, made it harder to get lost in what came next. Barok. The foundation he had built his kingship upon, full in the knowledge that he had a son worthy to succeed him, had been torn from underneath him, leaving him floundering in a torrent of grief he never would have expected. It had almost broken him when his beloved wife had withered and died, but that pain had been trifling compared to the agony that gripped his heart in a gauntleted fist. He’d burn it all down if it meant he could have Barok back.

As the wave of anger ebbed, he took long, slow breaths and the cold chains around his heart began to recede. He swiped at his neat beard and felt moisture on the back of his hand. Once composed again, he stepped out of the cell and followed the distant rattle of chains.

The Questioner’s Court was a grand name for a squalid cell at the far end of the dungeons. With its unbroken line of sight down the whole corridor of cells, there was no escaping the knowledge of when court was in session. The screams of the Questioner’s victims announced it as surely as the Lucins’ chanting declared it time for prayer. Haradrok thrust the door open as the prisoner’s chains were attached to a hook in the ceiling. A low table ran along the back wall covered in all manner of implements whose use Haradrok could only imagine. Unlike everything else in the cell, these tools were immaculate. Polished to a shine that could almost compete with mirror armour.

The Questioner was nowhere to be seen, but that wasn’t unusual. There was a certain performative aspect to the torturer’s work. Once the prisoner was secured, Haradrok gestured for the guards to take their places against the wall. A brass gong hung from the ceiling next to the prisoner. He struck it and a pure, clean note vibrated through the cell.

“Court is convened,” he called. The prisoner’s face was pure confusion and he understood why. If this charade didn’t yield results Haradrok wouldn’t put up with it, but it did, so he did.

A moment later there was movement outside the cell. A woman stepped through into the dim light. The Questioner. She wore a scarlet ball gown which glittered whenever one of the hundreds of precious stones sewn to it caught the light. Had she walked into one of the Royal dances like that, the heads of everyone present would have turned to look. She inclined her own head towards him. The only acknowledgement of rank she ever gave.

“Who is the supplicant before the court today?” she asked in a voice that could make a man fall instantly in love.

“Your grace.” The pockmarked guard dropped to one knee. “The wretch before you is the supplicant.”

Haradrok stepped in before the number of long words scrambled the guard’s mind. “Going by the name of Mead, she comes before you today to beg for the gift of truth. Locked inside her are answers that she is desperate to call forth. We need your assistance.”

The Questioner brushed a strand of black hair back behind her alabaster ear. She pinched the prisoner’s injured cheek and smiled as she recoiled.

“I am in a generous mood. I have heard your request and shall provide.” She dropped the prisoner’s face and glided to the table. The first thing she picked up was a length of parchment covered in neat notes. “I see you have provided your request in writing too.”

Haradrok nodded, but inside he was getting bored of the act. He knew the Questioner had studied the report he’d provided in great depth. That was part of the reason he kept her employed. Thorough. That, and she answered directly to him. The Shepherds of the Cleansing Flame were good at what they did, but their loyalty was to Simetra and the Archlucin. Dain Forbes was slippery as sheet ice. His loyalty went to whomever he thought offered the most. The Questioner was his.

“Where to begin?” she mused. “We know your name, which is a start, and the fact you’re a captain, but precious little else. What is clear is that there’s a gold mine of information inside that skull of yours. We just need the key to get it out. So, question one. Have you seen one of these before?” She plucked the Firthenite arrow Saphielle had brought back from the table and held it so the prisoner could clearly see.

Captain Mead’s response was familiar, staring at the wall.

“Let me make the rules of this court perfectly clear,” the Questioner said. “When I ask a question, I expect you to answer it. You get one chance to do so before I turn to my tools. As I am benevolent, I’ll let you have a second chance for this one. Have you seen these arrows before?”

There was silence, and Haradrok realised he was holding his breath.

“Don’t say you weren’t given ample opportunity to talk.” The Questioner replaced the arrow and took up a heavy pair of snips, the sort usually found in a farrier’s workshop.

“Unchain one of her arms and hold it tight.” The guards rushed to do her bidding and a moment later they held the prisoner’s right arm tightly between them. Muscles twitched in Mead’s jaw and sweat beaded her brow. The Questioner manoeuvred the snip’s jaws around the first joint of her little finger and pushed down hard. The scream that followed pierced him like a rapier.

In the end, she’d broken before the Questioner had started on a second finger. The screams had lasted one cut.

On one hand, Haradrok was disappointed the Firthenite had cracked so quickly. On the other, it meant Archlucin Baylor’s ritual was now superfluous. He’d take great pleasure in telling her.

As for the arrows, they’d been introduced a few months ago. Distributed first to the raiding parties that had ravaged the border. There had been rumours of them for over a year, though. Of a weapon capable of counteracting the Noonguards’ armour. Then there was the matter of the power the Noxa were able to wield. All the prisoner knew was that the stones were mined deep into Firthenite territory. A single mine as far from any border as possible. Even if Baku could repel their invasion properly, following up with an assault on this moonglass mine would be nigh on impossible. But he didn’t have to waste lives on an incursion.

He climbed the stairs out of the dungeons, leaving the prisoner’s quiet sobs far behind. Maybe the Archlucin would get to perform a ritual, after all. Stepping out into fresh air he changed his destination from the Crownhall to the temple

Baylor had gathered a small number of Lucins around Simetra’s statue and was conversing with them in hushed tones. Haradrok made no effort to hide his arrival and his heels rapped against the stone floor.

“Change of plans,” he said. “The captain has given us all the information we need, so your Cleansing Flame will not be required.” The daggers Archlucin Baylor unleashed on him could have killed a weaker man. “But that doesn’t mean your jobs are over. Prepare again for Simetra’s Final Arrow. I want to be ready to launch within the hour. I’ll take to the vestry in the meantime.” Without giving the Archlucin an opportunity to argue, he marched from the nave.

He found the cupboard where Baylor had fetched him refreshments from the last time and was pleasantly surprised to find half a bottle of wine. He’d never seen alcohol pass the Archlucin’s lips, so who it was for or from was a mystery, but that didn’t matter. He poured himself a generous measure and sat with his feet up on Baylor’s desk. She stormed in as Haradrok finished the dregs of the wine, jabbing her staff at him like a weapon.

“In the name of Simetra, what do you think you’re doing? You may be king, but this is my realm. You cannot order me around in here, let alone demand another of those rituals so soon after the first.”

“You may think you speak for the Goddess, but I speak for the people of this country, and I say prepare.”

Archlucin Baylor sat opposite and knocked the King’s feet onto the floor with her staff.

“Expending another Lucin before the next contingent is fully trained would leave us dangerously low in numbers.”

“I’m aware of that, Archlucin, and I wouldn’t be doing this unless it was strictly necessary. I say this without exaggeration. This strike will win us the war.”

Baylor folded her arms and leant back into her chair. “What would the target be this time, then?”

“There is a mine that produces all the Firthenites’ moonglass. We can destroy it and wipe out their biggest advantage.”

“I see. Do we not need a terrestrial conduit? How do you intend to get soil from this mine?”

Haradrok grinned. “That’s the thing. We don’t need to risk a single life to obtain a conduit. We’ve already got one, provided by the Firthen army themselves. What could be a better focus than a shard of crystal from the very mine we want to destroy?” He took out the arrow and laid it on the table between them. “We have everything we need.”

Saphielle

The dream leapt on her like a Cloudcat. Brightfont was several days behind them and Saphielle and Yolene had reached the outer fringes of the Oldgrove where they’d settled for the night beneath the roots of a fallen beech. One moment, Saphielle had been lying on her back under her cloak, drawing lines between stars that twinkled through the leaves. The next, she was enveloped by sleep and by a dream which started almost instantly.

Her skin crawled and her eyes darted around the darkness. There was a wrongness to it, as if someone had broken into her rooms and moved all the furniture. A flash of panic brushed past her and Simetra was there in her blinding glory.

“I fear we have less time than I anticipated. The Great Wyrm has chosen a champion far sooner than I hoped. This makes your task harder than it already is. I’ve been watching you. I’ve seen your struggles and I believe we have come to the same conclusion. The Wyrm is your burden alone, your fellow humans too preoccupied with killing each other. This was never going to be an easy task, but a champion has made it far more challenging. With a puppet in your world, the Wyrm can cause you harm from a distance. It no longer has to rely on defeating you itself.”

The arrowhead around Saphielle’s neck radiated heat but it did little to soothe the cold fear Simetra had delivered with her words.

“That is ill news, Goddess. I was delayed in departing Brightfont and now it seems I have less time than we thought. There are hundreds of miles between myself and the mountain and I have no knowledge of what to expect when I reach it. Bare hands and a sword are unlikely to kill a creature such as this.” She recalled the terror she’d felt when the Wyrm had invaded her dream. Her blade was no longer than one of its fangs, and the Wyrm had a full maw of those.

“I don’t expect you to fight with that toothpick. No. There is an artefact of mine sequestered deep inside my temple. A Bow. You’ll find it in the vault hidden beneath my statue, the key to which you carry around your neck. Take the Bow, mount the arrowhead around your neck to a shaft. This will be enough to slay the beast. As for the Wyrm’s champion, you’ll have to be on your guard. I don’t know what tricks the Wyrm will have given them to hunt you down, but the two of you will be drawn together eventually. Kill them before they kill you. I’m sure you don’t need reminding that failure means the destruction of the world as you know it. We will speak again, until then you must stay alert and stay strong.”

Simetra’s form started to fade. Saphielle reached out, more questions forming on her lips, but the dream frayed at the edges and unravelled.

She woke with a slash of morning sun across her face, as weary as when she’d laid down. Saphielle stretched and cracked her neck on both sides. Trying not to wake Yolene next to her, she rose and padded to the small brook that darted over the moss-covered rocks. The water was clear and cold and she scooped a few handfuls into her mouth. As she did, she committed the details of the dream to memory. Her stomach growled. Rations had been slim since they’d left Brightfont and were close to running out. Soon they’d have to leave half a day to hunt and forage or else starve on the road. With food in mind, she returned to the base of the fallen tree and dug out the last of the food from her pack.

“You’re up early,” Yolene croaked, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

“Had another dream.”

“A normal dream, or one with… you know, a Goddess talking to you?”

“The latter. Simetra had good news and bad, what would you like first?” She wetted a finger and wiped the last few crumbs from the waxed wrap in which their rations had been stored.

“Let’s start with the bad news. They say it’s always better to have honey after vinegar. Is that the last of the bread?”

“I’m afraid it is. We’ll have to keep an eye out for anything edible as we go.” Yolene scowled but Saphielle ignored her. “The bad news is the Great Wyrm, that’s what she calls the creature, has found its own champion. Its version of me, I guess. They want to stop me defeating the Wyrm and I suppose the easiest way would be to kill me before I reach Simetra’s Peak.”

“Oh great, yet something else that wants us dead. Is it not enough to have an enemy army rampaging through the country and a giant bloody lizard that wants to end the world? Now we have to add a prospective murderer to the list?”

“That’s the long and short of it. Now do you want the good news?”

“Why not? I need something positive to try and recover the morning. I’ve only been awake a few minutes.”

Saphielle grinned, oblivious to the sour look on her friend’s face. “There’s a weapon. Simetra said it was her own and that if we make an arrow using this arrowhead that will be enough.”

“Alright. This Bow, where is it?”

“Ah, well. It’s hidden within Simetra’s temple at Brightfont.”

“Likes to make it easy, doesn’t she? Are you sure there’s nothing left? I’m starving.”

Saphielle rummaged through the pack and pulled out a heel of hard bread starting to go green around the edges. “I lie, that’s the last of it.”

“Thanks for saving me some,” Yolene replied with an edge of frustration. “Do you really think an arrow can kill something as fearsome as the Wyrm? How was it you described him, taller than ten men stood atop each other and broad as four oxen?” She snatched the bread and tore off the least mouldy chunk.

“So what, you reckon I should just give up now? Shall we go home and watch the pretty snow before we all die?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’ve got to try, but don’t put all your faith in this weapon that may not even exist. What if someone got to it before us? I mean, the Bow could have been gone for centuries. We’ve got each other to rely on, and that’s about it. Anything else is a bonus.”

Yolene had always been sceptical of outside help, and many times Saphielle had agreed with her, but sometimes a little trust was required.

She gathered the last of their possessions and slung the pack over her shoulder. Yolene would cool down and come around eventually. Food would help. The first berries they found would be Yolene’s.

They walked on, keeping to the edges of the road. From the geography lessons her father had forced her to sit through, she knew Simetra’s Temple was built on a plain below the Misttrace mountains. A popular site for pilgrimage. Many people vowed to visit at least once in their lives and bathe in the light of the sacred flame. Her father had taken Barok there once when he was thirteen and Saphielle nine. That was too young, apparently, to travel so far, but Saphielle knew the real reason. She wasn’t worth as much in Haradrok’s eyes as Barak had been. On the bright side, the roads were well maintained and mostly direct. They’d be able to get there in a little over a week if they could get hold of some horses.

“What about this champion, then?” Yolene asked almost an hour later.

“What about them?”

“What do you think they’ll be like?”

“I don’t know. Dain Baku is father’s champion and I guess the Great Wyrm was able to choose from anyone. So they’re probably a warrior of some sort. The worst thing they can do is underestimate me, though. I could defeat most of the Noonguard in single combat by the time I was eighteen, so this champion doesn’t intimidate me.”

Yolene slowed to half her pace. “You don’t understand this at all, do you? It’s not a game, Saph. If we screw this up, we’re all dead. Me, you, Mirabelle, everyone. We can’t afford to take chances.”

“I understand the situation perfectly. The weight of the world is on my shoulders. You really think I don’t feel it? All I can do is my best. At least if I fail, we won’t have to suffer my inadequacies for long.” The two of them stared at each other for a few seconds before Yolene averted her gaze.

“Look, there are some mushrooms on that stump.” Saphielle turned around and spotted a cluster of orange fungus sprouting from a rotten tree. They spent the next half an hour scouring the area for any more and returned to the road with a healthy amount in their packs. Yolene had also found a berry bush in the shadow of an ancient oak and had eaten enough to stain her lips a dark purple.

“You look like the jester that performed at my tenth birthday,” Saphielle laughed.

“At least I’m funnier. The only person he made laugh was your father, and that was because he fainted halfway through.”

Saphielle thrust an arm out. “Quiet, did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“There was a noise, I’m sure of it. I don’t think we should be this visible.”

There it was again. A sound she knew all too well. “Get into cover!” She shoved through the tangle of brambles that grew at the side of the road, not caring as they tore clothes and skin. A rustle behind told her Yolene had followed. Saphielle ripped her ankle free of the thorns and slid down the shallow bank on the far side. She hit a downed trunk, rolled over it and pressed herself in tightly on the far side. Moments later, Yolene followed, pressing her body against Saphielle’s.

“What’s the matter?” Yolene asked in a whisper. “What’s wrong?”

“We’re not the only people on the road, look.” She lifted her head above the safety of the tree trunk. Coming around the curve of the road was a group of riders, about a score strong. A handful of Noonguard rode at the front but most were dressed in the black robes of the Shepherds.

“What are they doing here?” Yolene whispered.

“I guess my father wants me back more than I thought. Keep your head down, last thing we want is to get spotted.”

As if Koruel had heard her, one of the riders glanced in their direction. Saphielle ducked out of sight, but the damage was likely done.

“Anyone else see that?” a distant voice asked.

“See what?”

“I think there’s someone down there, I just saw a head.” Saphielle drew a sharp breath.

“Take a look, if it’ll make you feel better, but we ain’t going to wait for you. If you slow us down, you won’t want to find out what the Dain will do. “

Yolene found Saphielle’s hand and clasped it tight. Her palm was clammy, though that could have been said for either of them.

Saphielle reached for her knife with her free hand. In a space like this there’d be no room for a sword. The knife slipped smoothly from its sheath. Leaves rustled in the direction of the road and the snap of a twig resounded like a crossbow. The rustling leaves grew closer and she was sure she could now hear the Shepherd’s breathing. The man could only be a dozen paces away. He’d spot them any moment. Her heart beat fast enough that surely the Shepherd could hear it.

“This is for Mirabelle,” she whispered, gripping the hilt tighter.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” Though Saphielle couldn’t see the speaker, she knew exactly who it was.

“Nothing, Dain Forbes. I… I thought… nothing.”

“Get back on your horse before I drag you behind it.”

“Yes, Dain, of course.” The footsteps retreated and a short while later the sound of hoofbeats did too. Saphielle breathed out long and slow.

“I thought they were going to have us there,” Yolene said, her voice wobbling slightly.

“So did I.” She returned the dagger to her belt. “But with rain comes grain and with drought comes hay. Dain Forbes and his Shepherds are after us, but they have something we need.”

“Horses.”

“Exactly. I can’t imagine Dain Forbes is one to sleep in the saddle, so at some point they’ll have to pitch camp or find an inn. We don’t have to do either. If I were a gambler, I’d stake all the gold in father’s vaults that they stop at the village on the edge of the forest. All we need to do is take a horse each, and let the others escape. We can move faster and they’ll have to give up. Easy.”

Yolene shook her head. “I hate the way you make it sound so simple.”

Ashuto

Ashuto crouched low and watched the armoured procession of soldiers snake along the road below. Quite honestly, he was sick of the sight of mirrored armour. How bloody obnoxious it was to think they reflected even an iota of their goddess’ power. And those crests. He’d be happy if he never saw another plume again. As it was, the troops in the valley were tarnished and dulled by the road. The battle flags flew tattered and more than one of the soldiers walked with a bandage or sling. Survivors cobbled together from the remnants of the armies that had dashed themselves on the anvil of black steel that was the Unbreakables and the rest of the Firthenite army. There were maybe ten thousand soldiers in the column and they were going west, no doubt trailing the main body of the Firthenites.

If Ashuto’s calculations were correct, they were a good week behind, even accounting for their inferior numbers which would allow them to move slightly faster across the terrain. Not that it was easy going. The road had been turned to mud by the army that had gone before, now the ground had dried to an uneven path that slowed them down as much as the mud would have, and threw a pall of dust into the air that hung over the soldiers like smoke. In the distance at the head of the column, a large lake glimmered through the haze. Already a number of tents had sprung up on its shoreline. It would take them the remainder of the day to pitch camp. He swung his satchel round and flicked open its flap. Thank Amul – or should that be thank the Wyrm – he hadn’t trusted that horse enough to stow his drawing implements in the saddle bag.

He unrolled the parchment and traced his journey from the forest to where he now sat. The stream had been his guide for a day and a half before he found the edge of the forest. Then he’d walked across moorland and scrubland until the ground began to rise again and the mountains grew in the distance. He’d kept the peaks in his mind’s eye and when they’d appeared as a faint mark above the patchy grassland, he felt a sense of calm. He was on the right path, he felt that deep in his core.

With practised strokes, he captured the shape of the lake and the stands of trees that stood on its banks, committing them to charcoal and then to ink. By the time he’d finished, most of the column was in the camp and scores of fires twinkled like stars.

Ten thousand soldiers, all heading towards Simetra’s Peak. He had to use the token wisely. He’d put plenty of thought to it over the last week. If Simetra had chosen a champion to kill the Great Wyrm, it would make sense for them to be a strong fighter. There would be no point in the Alliquean Goddess choosing someone like him. And where would he find Alliqueans who could fight? Why, the army was a good start, and ten thousand of them in one place? He’d be stupid not to check. All he had to do was get close enough for the scale to recognise the champion, if indeed they were there. If they weren’t, then he’d continue on to the Temple of Simetra. The goddess’ champion would pass through there on their way to the peak, that much was inevitable, and when they did, he’d find them. Of that he was certain. Amul’s Shield was still low in the sky though, too low for what he had planned, so he nestled into a cleft in the crag and closed his eyes.

When he awoke, night had settled. The moon was a quarter full and its light was barely enough for him to pick his route through the brambles that lined the lower parts of the hillside. Eventually he reached what passed for the road. A pitted, rutted mess of dried clay and mud. Somewhere ahead would be a line of sentries on duty all night to prevent ne’er-do-wells and miscreants from gaining access to the camp, and to stop any reluctant soldiers from getting out. Ashuto, however, gave no thought to them. Once their torches came into sight, he slipped off the road and back into the vegetation that lined its length.

The first few yards of brambles tore at his trousers and he felt the sting as they cut his legs, but then he was through them and under the young trees that the native deer and ponies hadn’t managed to get to, despite the patches of gnawed bark in places. Making sure he never lost sight of the silver surface of the lake, he curved around the edge of the camp.

Something rustled away to his left and he froze.

“Who needs a latrine pit, hey? There’s something about pissing in the woods that makes a man feel one with nature.” A soldier, likely one of the sentries, emerged from a thicket of chestnuts lacing up the front of his trousers. Ashuto held his breath and heard it pounding in his ears.

“It’s easy enough for you, all you’ve got to do is whip that thing out and you can go anywhere. Do you know the pain of squatting over a nettle or thistle? I doubt it. No, give me a pit with a seat any day.”

The male soldier laughed and pushed his way back towards the camp. “No sense of adventure, you. Think of it as a challenge.” The rest of his words were lost in the trees and Ashuto could breathe again.

He stayed rooted to the spot for a moment longer to ensure the pair weren’t going to return, then carried on through the same stand of chestnuts the sentry had relieved himself in, being careful to avoid anything damp. His destination resolved itself a couple of minutes later. He’d spotted it from his vantage point half-way up the hillside and it would keep him hidden long enough to use the Great Wyrm’s scale.

Thirty yards on, the ground dropped away into a deep ditch carved by centuries of meltwater coming down off the high ground. At this time of year, it was dry and perfectly suited to keeping a skinny lad like himself from sight. Moss and bracken brushed against his face and neck like insects scurrying over his skin. He shivered and put the thought that real insects might well be living in the foliage out of his mind. His shoulders touched both sides and a wave of panic washed over him. What if he got stuck further along? What if other things had decided to use this ditch too, things with teeth and claws?

“Pull yourself together,” he said under his breath. He turned a little sideways and inched down the gully. Loose pebbles rattled as he kicked them and the rock underfoot had been worn smooth by the water until it was as treacherous as the polished marble in Craydon’s Town Hall. What state would it be in now? Cracked and pitted and scorched. The thought of that spurred him on.

It was only a hundred yards to the lake as the crow flew, but the twists and turns off the streambed made it at least double that. Sure, it was a fine hiding place if anyone glanced casually in his direction, but if one of the sentries was to appear at the top, they’d spot him in a heartbeat. When he next dared to poke his head over the top of the ditch, the moon was approaching its apex, though it felt like he’d been in there all night. Tents had been erected only a dozen yards away. Neat lines of them in a grid down to the lake edge. Close enough he could hit them with a well-aimed rock, if only he could get his arms free. The gully ended maybe ten paces from the water’s edge and he wriggled towards it, ducking low.

“Oi, weren’t you two supposed to have relieved us by now?” The voice of the male sentry he’d seen earlier sounded close.

He twisted his neck until it hurt but it allowed him to see the man’s silhouette between the fern fronds, standing right on the edge of the ditch. All it would take was for the man to look down.

“They obviously had better things to be doing like pissing around here,” said the female sentry. “Get off your lazy arses and do your jobs. I fancy myself a swim, but I can’t do it with you two loitering. Don’t make me tell the sarge.”

“Come on, Shack, who’s really going to try and infiltrate this latrine of a camp?” asked a third voice. Young and bored with a nasal quality that made Ashuto dislike the speaker already.

“That doesn’t matter. You’ve been given an order, so go and do it. Someone will come to take over from you in a few hours, if they don’t forget.” The woman chuckled and the young soldier sighed.

“Fine. Slabhead, get up, you’re on duty with me.” There was the sound of skin against skin and a groan of someone rudely awakened. “Don’t stay in the water too long, there’s things down there that’ll swallow you whole.” Their footsteps retreated until Ashuto was sure it was just the man and the woman left.

“What did that little gobshite mean?” the woman asked.

“Nothing, he was just being a pain in the arse as usual. That’s my baby brother for you. I knew we should have left him back at the Bloodwash. Have a dip, I’ll join you in a moment.” Lips smacked together and the woman giggled.

“Make sure you do.” Her armour clanked softly as she pulled it off, followed by the rustle of her clothes.

Satisfied their attention was now firmly elsewhere, Ashuto dragged himself the final distance to the end of the ditch. The gully widened enough for him to shake his shoulders loose and he rubbed the tops of his arms which had been scraped and scratched by flint and roots. The woman, Shack, stood knee deep in the lake. Moonlight illuminated her pale skin and Ashuto blushed. She was completely naked. The smooth curve of her breasts and buttocks was unlike anything he’d seen before. His eyes tracked down her body to the dark patch of hair between her legs. He bit his lip and the sharp pain brought him back to his senses. He wasn’t here to spy on a bathing woman.

“You coming?” Shack asked over her shoulder.

“I’ll be right with you.” The man waddled to the edge of the water, pulling his trousers off as he went. When he was as naked as her, he splashed into the shallows. His body was toned and flat, muscles born from hard work. Ashuto was grateful when the pair of them reached waist-deep water. “Not quite midnight yet, is it?”

“Not yet, you’ll know when it is.”

Ashuto felt his gaze drifting back to the couple and he snatched it away again. He heard them kiss, giggling, and tried to think of something else. There was a gasp from the woman. Surely they had somewhere more private to—

The water was glowing. Swirls of vibrant blue light danced under the surface. Where the Alliqueans disturbed the light, it burst into sparks as if a log had been thrown onto a campfire. Ashuto found himself moving forwards, stepping out of cover to get closer. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. All he wanted to do was touch it and see the light explode around his hand.

“Hey, what are you doing?” He snapped his head round to the source of the question. Shack was staring at him, one arm covering her breasts. “I don’t recognise you.” Her partner began to wade in Ashuto’s direction, sending arcs of light with every step.

Ashuto tried to dart back, but it was too late to escape. As the soldier neared, the light changed from blue to purple. Bright water dripped from his chest. Clearly, the bottom of the lake dropped and the man’s shoulders dipped under the water. The moment they did, the light became red. Ashuto knew something was wrong when he saw the wave charging from the middle of the lake. He turned and dived back into the gully as something enormous broke the surface of the water, drenching him in spray. Rolling onto his back, he watched in fascinated horror as a creature covered in green spines fell on the soldier. Claws tore into the man’s back and a terrible maw clamped over his head.

Ashuto looked away.

When he glanced back, the soldier’s body was gone.

Shack had watched all this in silence, rooted to where she stood. Then she screamed. The creature in the lake turned to her and she splashed towards the shore, all regard for her modesty tossed aside. A powerful flick of its tail propelled the beast forward and its jaws latched onto Shack’s ankle. It tossed its head back and threw the woman into the sky. The crunch of bone as it caught her made Ashuto want to throw up.

The screams and splashing had attracted more soldiers who rushed to the edge of the lake where they formed a half circle, none daring to get too close. The creature reared, revealing its long, scaled body, spines jutting from each joint and angle. It had a long face too, longer than the Great Wyrm’s, but similar in appearance. There were too many teeth for its mouth, so they protruded from under its upper jaw in a corona of fangs. Its amber eyes transfixed them all with a ferocious glare.

More soldiers appeared, having taken the time to strap on armour and procure spears and bows. They pushed their way to the front. There must have been a good few thousand soldiers crammed onto the strip between camp and lake. Their nervous hum was like a swarm of bees. No one, Ashuto included, wanted to take their eyes off the creature that now floated lazily on the lake surface, still watching the gathered Alliqueans.

Ashuto slipped his hand into his pocket and drew out the scale. This wasn’t how he’d planned it, but there was no chance he’d be able to sneak into the middle of the camp now, not when every soldier was going to be on their highest alert. He gripped it so the edges dug painfully into his thumb. Before he lost the nerve, he slashed the fleshy pad.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then light rippled across its face. Ashuto swiftly covered it with his arm. The last thing he needed was for one of the soldiers to spot it and drag him out. He had no intention of becoming a snack for the monster. What was it the Wyrm had said, the scale would grow cold? So far it remained pocket warm.

“You see, even the old creatures are turning from the Ilskini.” The Wyrm’s voice echoed in his head. “There was a time even beasts like this lived in awe and fear of them, but now they sense weakness. They rebel against the deep law impressed on them. Followers of the doomed gods will see far more of this. The champion, however, is not here. You must continue your search. Don’t fail me, and remember, the fragment of my power you command is limited.” The light in the scale faded and so did the voice.

A growl from the creature vibrated through him, shaking his core like the bass drums at the Winter Parade. All that was visible above the water were its eyes and a line of spines running down its back. The water around it still glowed, the light having returned to blue.

An officer in a plumed helmet pushed their way through the thicket of spears. “Everybody back up and return to your tents. The lake is now off limits. Eight Patrol, you’re on shore duty. Line the bank and make sure that thing stays where it is.”

Ashuto found himself wishing the creature would take the officer’s head off, helmet with it. He hated the things and all they reminded him of. Those soldiers at the rear or the group took a few nervous steps backwards, as if expecting the creature to attack again, before turning around and running back to their tents. The next rank followed. Then a twang broke the air, followed a moment later by a flash of light from the monster’s side. The beast howled and the noise of it tore through him like the scrape of iron on stone, only a thousand times harsher. The light in the water was sucked instantly back into the creature’s body and its sudden loss was disorientating. With a splash, the beast turned and dove back into the depth.

A bowman was shoved forwards to the edge of the water. “I didn’t mean to, my hand slipped.”

“You idiot,” the officer yelled. “You could have got us killed.” A column of lake water shot twenty feet into the air. The creature burst from it, landing on squat legs at the edge of the lake. A snap of its jaws and the bowman was gone, followed a heartbeat later by the officer. The cries could have been heard in Firthen.

Ashuto turned his back on the carnage as the water at the edge of the lake turned red, this time not from the creature’s light. He retreated back up the ditch with the screams of the dying in his ears.

Saphielle

Cold light illuminated the face of a wind-worn milestone. The largest arrow pointed towards Eastford, twenty five miles away, but a smaller one, almost obscured by the lichen growing over it, indicated that the village of Forest Edge was a mere mile distant down a dirt road. Saphielle crouched at the junction where the dirt road met the hard-packed surface of Temple Street. It was an innocuous name for the road that ran from Lendas to Simetra’s Temple, more at home in the warren of the capital, but someone long ago had dubbed it thus, and so the name had stuck. Dozens of hoof prints scarred the surface of the road. She poked the raised mud around the edge of one. Still moist, and the outline of the nails used to secure the horseshoe had yet to fade.

“They definitely came this way, earlier this evening I’d wager. In a couple of hours we’ll be back here with horses of our own. Hopefully those clouds hold off until then.” Above the trees a dark bank of clouds gathered, rolling in off the sea and squatting ominously.

“That might be a storm coming. If it’s anything like the last one we won’t want to be outside in it,” Yolene said.

“We may not get a choice. When we get those mounts, we’ll have to put as much distance between us and Dain Forbes as we can. If that means riding through a storm, then that’s what we’ll have to do.”

“No point in running before we can walk. We have to get the horses first.”

“Very true, and we’re not going to do that standing here nattering.” She straightened up, scuffed the hoof print with her boot and set off towards Forest Edge. After almost four full days in the Oldgrove, it felt good to have clear sky above and a view over the fields, highlighted in silver, that stretched further than ten yards. It wasn’t long until the fires of Forest Edge came into view. Perhaps thirty houses in all, scattered haphazardly as if they’d grown like mushrooms from the ground. Light spilled out of windows and around doors as they reached the edge of the village. The fading smells of dinner mingled with woodsmoke and manure. The inn was easy to spot. The largest building in the village, it sat a little apart.

A dog snarled at them from behind a fence as they went past. Its lips were pulled back and teeth bared. The door of the house creaked open and a weathered woman stuck her head out.

“Don’t mind him, his bark is worse than his bite. If you’re looking for a place to stay for the night, the inn is up there and on your left.”

“Thank you. Did a group of soldiers pass this way earlier in the day?”

“You know what? They did. Near scared me to death, we don’t normally get Shepherds here, thank the goddess. Had to lock the mutt inside, or he’d have gone for them and ended up getting himself killed. I sent them to the inn too so be warned.”

Saphielle thanked the woman again and she went back inside, dragging the dog with her.

“Well, we’re certainly in the right place,” Yolene said.

“Let’s get a good look at the stables. They’d be hard pushed to fit that many horses in.”

As they walked through the village, Saphielle couldn’t help but remember the ruined settlement where her problems began. She’d been a different person then. Freer in more ways than one. Now, despite being beyond the control of her father, she was more shackled to her fate than ever before.

“Do you believe we have a choice in what we do, what we become?”

Yolene blinked. “That’s a deep question. What’s brought it on?”

“Every decision since Simetra first appeared has been made for me whether I liked it or not. From choosing to leave Brightfont to where we’re headed, I’ve not truly had an option. I feel like I’m being swept along in the river and all I can do is pick which rocks I bounce off on the way down.”

Yolene took her shoulders and spun her so they were face to face. “We always have a choice, even if it doesn’t seem obvious at first. You could have ignored the message and let the world fend for itself, but you didn’t. You could have given up when Dain Forbes accused you but you escaped. I’m not here because a Goddess may or may not have given you a task. I’m here because I believe in you. Fate isn’t just something that happens to you, it’s something you have to seize for yourself. You’ll be remembered for this, because you made it happen.”

The corners of Saphielle’s eyes pricked as tears rose unbidden. She pulled Yolene into a hug and wrapped her arms tightly around her, partly so that her tears were hidden but also because it felt good to be believed in. They shared the embrace for a moment, each enjoying the other’s warmth.

Then she coughed and they pulled apart. “Shall we find these horses, then?”

Yolene nodded. “I’m getting tired of walking at your pace.” Saphielle laughed and gave her a gentle punch on the arm.

A large sign hung over the front door of the inn and Saphielle could just about make out the faint words “Koruel’s Eye” painted beneath a faded painting of a Skrynia. It was stone-built, the walls eroded by wind and rain, so it appeared to have a rippled finish. Small plants grew out of the thatch over the porch.

As they approached, the door flung open and half a dozen people hurried out.

The man at the front of the group huffed as he passed the two of them. “Just because they’re Shepherds doesn’t give them the right to do that. They think they’re better than us. Twenty years I’ve sat in that spot every evening and they think they can turf me out of it like I’m some snot-nosed child.”

“They mayn’t have the right, but they’ve got great bloody swords which is enough of a substitute in my books. Look, Grantly, they’ll be gone tomorrow and you can have your damn chair back for the next twenty years, if you make it that long.” The disgruntled patrons dispersed into the village and left Saphielle and Yolene alone in front of the inn.

“If the Shepherds are on the wine tonight, that should make our job easier,” Yolene said.

“I’m not so sure. We might struggle to reason with them if it comes to that.”

“Why would we need to talk? The drink will keep them busy while we slip into the stables and make off with a couple of horses.”

“Now who’s making it sound easy?”

They sauntered to the front of the Koruel’s Eye and paused at the door. Loud guffaws of laughter and raucous shouting spilled through the part-open door.

“Oi, Fishbait, are you playing this hand or what?”

Saphielle flinched at the call.

“What’s the matter?” Yolene asked in a low voice.

“Fishbait, or should I call him Finn, Fishbait is his nickname. Fishbait and I went through our first year of training together. I can’t imagine he’d be too pleased to see me, though. We didn’t end on the best of terms.”

“As long as we stay out here and he stays in there, everything will be fine. Where are these stables?”

“I’d guess that way.” Saphielle pointed at the trail of hoof prints that followed the wall of the inn around to the back. The stone of the stable was a good three decades newer than the inn and built on the back of the original building by someone who barely knew one end of a chisel from the other. They were in the right place, though. Twenty-something horses made a din at the best of times, and in a new place without their riders to comfort them, they were even louder.

“That wasn’t so hard.” Yolene poked her head around the angle of the wall and whipped it back half a heartbeat later. “The Noonguard are on the door. Guess they don’t trust the locals much.”

“More likely they don’t trust the Shepherds.”

Had it been Shepherds guarding the stables, she’d have clobbered them over the head and been done with it, but she couldn’t bring herself to fight Noonguard.

“We’re going to need a distraction. One that gets rid of those two but doesn’t bring the rest out here either.”

They pulled back into the corner. The Shepherds were still audible, though heavily muffled by the thick stone, and it was clear they intended a heavy night.

She recalled her own nights in the Noonguard. There had been one in particular, when a couple of barrels of wine had mysteriously gone missing from the king’s personal wine cellar and ended up in the Noonguards’ mess hall. Mess hall by name, and by Simetra, it had been a mess hall by nature come midnight. The laughing and the joking. Half a dozen of her year’s intake lined up against six of the year above, each armed with a pint flagon of wine and they raced to see which group could finish their wine the fastest.

Fishbait had taken the last leg for her year, draining his flagon in seconds to take the crown — a rusted cooking pot with a hole in the bottom — only to vomit down the mess hall steps the moment he’d been crowned. She’d dragged him outside and sluiced him off until he was presentable once more. They’d ended up talking for hours about nothing that really mattered. Who’d end their career with the most kills. Who’d go furthest into Firthen. Questions that, until a couple of weeks ago, were little more than hypothetical. Despite the happy memories of that night, there was a sour note too. It was the night their friendship had broken irreparably.

She’d pulled a blanket over the pair of them so Fishbait could warm up in front of the fire and the entitled idiot had considered that enough of a sign for him to make an advance on her. An advance to which he didn’t take no for an answer. In the end, it had been a pure accident that had saved her from anything beyond wandering hands. Some of the others managed to set fire to a tapestry and the flames had distracted everyone long enough for her to get away and run sobbing back to her quarters. She shuddered at the thought. Such a wonderful night ruined by one man’s inability to control himself.

Fishbait had lost his place in the Noonguard after that and she’d wondered what had become of him. Now she knew. But in her sadness lay the answer.

“Fire,” she said, softly.

“What? Where?”

“No, that’s our distraction. Noonguard would never leave a fire to burn. It’s not in their nature.”

“Alright, a fire it is, then. What shall we burn? I don’t see much dry wood around here.”

“It’ll have to be something of a decent size to keep them busy long enough. Something like…” She looked back along the wall towards the village. “Something like a house.”

Pel

It was a cold morning, even for the tundra. My breath had frozen into white frost on the edge of my blanket. I’d barely slept and I’m sure I wasn’t the only one. Every noise in the night had been the White Wyrm returning to its lair, and when I had dozed off, my mind had been full of Bone Suckers and Snowfiends. I left the tent with Modrik and Voznan still sleeping and padded to the warm remains of the fire. The ashes were the same pale grey as the sky.

Several Hunters huddled together outside their own tents and I couldn’t help but notice the looks they gave Harunath. The warden had appeared with an armful of fuel and he dumped it unceremoniously at my feet.

“Get that burning. There’s no point leaving it here for the time being. I’ll have to report this to the Convocation and they’ll appoint a new warden.”

“You’re appointed? I assumed this was something you chose to do.”

“It is, and no one can be forced to do anything against their will, but different Sanctuaries have different standings amongst the wardens. Some are more prestigious than others. It can be surprisingly political when it comes to new appointments.”

Ileta sauntered up, picking something from between her teeth and flicking it into the ashes. “If I was a betting girl, I’d put money on Jensen for this one. Could see it going to your girl, though. What’s her name again?”

“Imogen? I don’t think she’s ready to take charge of a Sanctuary on her own yet. Besides, she’s not here. She can’t put herself forward.”

“Her name has been on tongues, don’t be too surprised if she’s nominated by someone else.” She gave me a scowl as she noticed I was there. It would take something truly special for her to believe I was anything other than a troublemaker. Some proof of who it really was that night at her Sanctuary would be a start, but I was no closer to getting that than I was to melting all the snow in Alliquis. It wasn’t that I hadn’t tried, but there was so little evidence, it was as if I had imagined the whole thing. And I was starting to think maybe I had done.

“What’s the next leg?” I asked, changing the subject in my head.

“It’s another tough one. By the end of the day, we’ll have crossed the Knife Edge and be only a few days from Brightfont, but that only works if we make perfect time. If we can’t get there while it’s still light, our only choice is to sleep outside the Sanctuary again.”

I groaned. I’d managed to put the Knife Edge out of my mind until now and Harunath had just made it worse by mentioning the consequences. Another night without the walls of a Sanctuary anywhere nearby. All that on top of the fact the Knife Edge would claim lives. It always did.

“Let’s hope we can keep the pace strong, then,” I replied.

“You’d better, or you’ll find yourself with my boot up your arse,” Ileta said.

“Just the motivation I need.”

“Well, take that motivation and get the others up. I’m going to need all the hands I can get.” I sighed and pushed myself up, swiping a strip of roasted Bone Sucker flesh as I went. It was chewy and rancid, but nothing got wasted out here. No matter the taste, the meat was filling and nutritious. At this point that was all any of us could ask for.

The fire was roaring by the time I’d dragged everyone out of their tents. Everyone, that was, except Rawl, who’d sworn so profanely at me that I’d blushed. Let Harunath deal with him, or even better, Ileta. The thorny warden didn’t suffer fools lightly. Once they’d all huddled around the fire and the Bone Sucker meat had been doled out, Harunath rose and addressed us.

“Today will not be easy, I can promise you that, but it’s the hardest part of the journey to Brightfont. Once we put today behind us, it’ll be flat going until we reach the gates. Today we cross the Knife Edge. Some of you may already know what that is, but for those of you who don’t, the Knife Edge is a narrow ridge that marks the only way across the Cutrock Chasm. There’s a sheer drop either side that’s enough to kill a White Wyrm and the ridge itself is only wide enough for a single person. I’m not telling you this to scare you, I’m doing it so you know what you’re walking into. Nobody will be forced to come, after all, this is your choice. If you don’t want to complete this leg, you are more than welcome to remain here and return the way we’ve come with the next caravan that passes. Unfortunately, due to the Convocation, there will be a delay on caravans going that way, but I’ve checked the stores and there is enough wood to last a week. I’ll also leave rations for anyone choosing to stay. Are there any questions?”

Several hands shot up.

“If the Knife Edge is so narrow, how will we get the sleds across?” a woman asked. I’d not spoken to her yet, but we’d exchanged nods and smiles.

“A good question, simply answered. We won’t have sleds.” This was greeted with a chorus of shouts and groans. Harunath waited until they’d died down. “I know, but I told you this would be hard. There’s no point dragging those great lumps if we can’t get them across the ridge. Instead, there are smaller personal sleds. Everybody will be expected to pull one. With the numbers we have, this shouldn’t be too much hassle. Anyone not pulling their weight, literally, will have myself and Ileta to answer to.”

Harunath led us out of the Sanctuary as the Hunters scouted ahead. The threat of the White Wyrm still loomed over us, and the nervous expressions on people’s faces told me no one had forgotten it. The Hunters were dark specks against the snow in a perimeter around us. It wouldn’t be much warning, but some was better than none.

It didn’t take long for us to become strung out across the tundra. The strongest at the front with those weaker lagging behind. Rawl brought up the rear and I could almost hear his moaning from where I stood. In the distance ahead, white hills rose against a thickening sky. The line on the horizon was a deep charcoal tinged with purple.

“That looks like a nasty storm,” I said to Harunath.

“Yes, it does.” The warden’s face was drawn and the lines on his forehead deep. He looked back at the Sanctuary, now little more than a dark shape against the snowfield. “We don’t know how long this storm will take to blow out,” he said, almost to himself, as if justifying his decision. “Rations are low. We need to cross the Cutrock.” He hefted his straps back onto his shoulders and cupped his mouth. “Hold at the front, there’s tricky conditions ahead and we need to stick together. We should match pace with the slowest person.”

“Rawl? We’ll still be walking this time next year,” Modrik said.

“You could always offer to help him,” Ileta snapped.

“If he’d ever shown any inclination to help someone else, maybe I would.”

“Have you considered that the quicker we go, the sooner we’ll make it to the Sanctuary?” I asked. Modrik scowled in reply. “We should split his pack between the strongest of us, and anyone else that’s struggling. There’s no point us all carrying the same amount if it means we end up spending another night without walls.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Harunath said. “Wait for everyone to come in and we’ll share the load by ability. It’s no more or less than we’ve done with the sleds up ‘til now.”

“Can anything that makes Rawl happy be a good idea?” Modrik griped.

“If it keeps us all safe, I’ll put up with it,” Ileta replied.

It wasn’t a swift task to corral everyone into a group contained enough that Harunath could speak, and even longer to rearrange the cargo. Almost an hour later, and with a right earful from Rawl, Kernick and Orbur, we were ready to go again.

The dark line on the horizon had grown into a bank of ominous cloud. I shared a look with Harunath. Whatever the outcome, the decision had been made for all of us and we’d have to deal with what happened when the storm reached us. With the reallocation of gear, we stayed as much more of a group. The Hunters kept a smaller radius now it was getting darker and the collective mood only followed the pattern of the weather. It wasn’t until we reached the crown of the first hill, though, that things took a turn for the worse.

As I trudged through snow up to my calves, I looked back on the way we’d come. There, following the tracks we’d carved from the snow, was a creature from a nightmare. I take pride that I didn’t scream when I saw the White Wyrm, though that was more by luck, as fear caught in my throat and I choked instead. The creature was several leagues away and barely visible against the snow, yet it was still as large as the first joint of my finger. Only its shuffling movement and the dark tracks it left behind gave it away as it followed our own path across the tundra. It walked on four stubby legs, but didn’t appear to have wings like the Great Wyrm. That, at least, was a blessing. Even so, at our respective paces, it would catch us before we reached the Sanctuary.

Gathering my wits, I strained against the straps of my sled and caught up to Harunath. “We have a small problem.”

“What’s Rawl done now?” the warden replied.

“Nothing, unless he’s managed to summon the White Wyrm that’s stalking us.”

“What?” He looked back and his skin paled beneath his beard. “How long has it been there?”

“I’ve only just noticed it. Didn’t want to raise the alarm yet in case it panicked anyone.”

“That was sensible. We’ve got to assess the best way to–”

“Wyrm ho!” Kernick stood pointing at the creature. Everyone turned and followed his finger. There was a palpable silence before the clamour began.

“We’re all dead,” Modrik wailed. Michela burst into tears and Treti did her best to keep a rein on her own terror. Orbur stalked over to Harunath.

“This is on your head. We should have dealt with the beast the moment we knew about it.”

To my surprise, it was Rawl who took control. “That’s enough. No matter who should or shouldn’t have done this or that, the fact remains we have a White Wyrm on our scent. As much as I know you’re all brave enough to, there’s no point trying to fight the thing. It won’t be stopped by the pitiful weapons we have available. That means our only chance is to reach the Sanctuary before it reaches us.”

Harunath cleared his throat. “Rawl is right. We have to outrun it. The Knife Edge is a few miles away, but if we give it all we’ve got, we can make this.”

Those rousing speeches were greeted by nervous nods. I got my sled moving once again as the first snowflakes began to fall. Fat, fluffy ones that heralded a vicious storm despite their appearance. That was all we needed, but we’d have to live with it.

For the next mile or so, I led the way and set a demanding pace. If I could keep this speed up with what felt like half the group’s belongings on my sled, then so could everyone else.

“I can’t decide what’s worse,” I said to Modrik between rasping breaths. “Uphill or down. Up is a killer on my calves, but at least the sled doesn’t try to run me over.”

“How are you so calm? That creature is going to kill us, but it doesn’t seem to phase you.”

“Oh, believe me. I’m just as scared as you are, but if I let that distract me from what needs to be done, then I’ve already lost.”

“That’s one of the first sensible things I’ve heard you say,“ Ileta said, coming up beside me. Her sled bore little more than her own personal items. “If we already believe we’re doomed, we might as well wait here for the Wyrm to catch up. Otherwise, quit with the moaning and put some real effort in.”

By now, the snow was falling in thick sheets which obscured almost everything beyond the first three feet. The Wyrm could have been upon us already and we wouldn’t know until it was too late. I couldn’t even have said we were heading in the right direction, but we were still going uphill which was a promising sign. As I’d hoped, the snowstorm started to clear the higher we climbed until I could make out the bulk of the ridge in the distance. It was as if someone had erected a narrow wall across the landscape and hadn’t cared how it looked. Part of me thought a strong wind would be enough to blow it over, but it had endured the rising and falling of gods with ease. For fear-driven heartbeat, the storm parted and I could see our tracks again. No more than a mile away was the Wyrm. Every few steps, its square face would sniff the air and turn in our direction.

“No chance of that thing giving up?” I asked, only half joking.

“Not a hope,” Rawl said. “Once it’s got a target in its scent, it won’t stop hunting until it catches its prey.”

“You know a lot about these things,” Ileta said.

“I’ve lived long enough to pick up a thing or two and I’m not going to lose it all to an outsized lizard.” The break in the clouds shifted again and hid the Wyrm from sight once more. It couldn’t be far until we got the ridge and I allowed myself a spark of hope.

“Not far now,” Harunath assured us. Then a terrifying roar cut through the snow. I’d heard a Rhenwarg snarl, and the groan of the Snowfiends, but this was unlike anything I’d heard before. It shook me to the centre of my being, turned my guts to water and my legs to parchment. It felt like the creature was directly behind my shoulder, but it couldn’t be. Either way, I had to check. Even the Hunters looked nervous. Their perimeter had shrunk and shrunk until they were barely ten yards out.

“We’re not going to make it,” Modrik whined.

“Yes we are, that’s the bottom of the Knife Edge,” Harunath said, pointing. Out of the blizzard rose a slope of black rock where even the snow couldn’t properly settle. I put on a burst of speed and reached the ridge first, the warden close behind me. The Knife Edge itself was barely fifty yards across, and through the gusting snow the beacons of the Sanctuary called to us from the other side.

“So what do we do?” I shouted as the wind tried to steal my voice.

“We have to cross, there’s no choice. The Wyrm will catch us if we try to wait out the storm. Nothing we can build out here will stop a creature like that.” Snow had frozen in Harunath’s beard and his entire face was white. I looked at the precarious ridge of the Knife Edge and down into the gorge below. The bottom was hidden by mist and cloud, but I knew any fall would be fatal.

“Well, after you then.”

Saphielle

Yolene gasped. “We can’t do that, Saph. It’s arson.”

“It’s the only chance we’ve got. We’ll find one that looks empty. Anyway, it won’t burn for long, they’ll see to that.” Before Yolene could change her mind, Saphielle marched back to the front of the inn and into the village. Most of the houses were lit from within, though even as she watched some were extinguished as the residents turned in for the night. One house, however, looked suitable. Set slightly apart from the others, it was dark as the grave. No smoke rose from its chimney and it possessed an outbuilding with a dry thatched roof, beyond which was only meadow.

She pointed it out to Yolene. “That’s the one. Wind is blowing away from the other houses and we can start the fire in the outbuilding. The only damage will be to that shack and once this is all over I can return and pay the owner enough to build something three times the size.”

“I still don’t like this. It doesn’t feel right.”

“I know, Yol, I don’t like it either, but it’s either this or fight the Noonguard. You know as well as I do that once they start fighting, they wouldn’t go easy on us, and we can’t afford to go easy on them. I don’t want to be responsible for killing any of them.”

Saphielle vaulted the low fence around the property and crossed the scrubby yard to the outbuilding. It was the sort of place used to house chickens or store unwanted furniture. Curiosity got the better of her and she tried the door, rattling it in the frame, but it was locked. She found her flint and steel and a fistful of dry tinder in her pack. Striking metal against stone sparks flared in the darkness, settled on the tinder and fizzled out. She tried it again with the same result. The third time, one of the sparks flared amongst the dried birch bark. She coaxed it to life with a gentle breath and the spark became an ember which became a small flame, bright against the night sky. As the flame started to eat away at the tinder, Saphielle considered where best to ignite the roof.

Did the Firthenite soldiers have similar thoughts when they’d ridden into the villages and set them to burning? Did they care at all if there was anyone inside? Memories of the blackened skeletons of buildings swam to the front of her mind. What if the plan went wrong? The fire could spread to other houses. It could kill people. Could she subject the locals to the terror she might inadvertently cause? Ultimately, she didn’t have a choice. They needed horses and this was the only way to get them. Anything else would be left to chance.

She set the budding flame to the thatch and watched as the tendrils of fire crawled into the straw. The glow lit her face, and Yolene’s too, darkening the shadows around her eyes and under her chin. Flames danced in her pupils. Tongues of orange spread across the roof, eating into it and turning the straw to ash and black. Heat washed off the fire. Sweat prickled her brow, though whether that was from the warmth or the guilt of what she’d done, she didn’t know.

“Saph, it’s done. We’ve got to go, or they’ll catch us here.”

She pulled herself away, suddenly cold outside the reach of the fire. They hurried from the house and outbuilding as the flames grew, devouring the aged wood.

“Fire!” Saphielle shouted once they were far enough away. “There’s a fire!” The village was silent for a short while until a shaft of gold light fell on the ground as a door was flung open. A yell was repeated around the village as more doors and windows were opened in concern or curiosity.

“Get the buckets,” someone called, prompting a flurry of movement. Saphielle turned her gaze to the Koruel’s Eye.

“Come on,” she muttered. This wasn’t like the Noonguard at all. They should have been out here already. On the edge of the village, the roof of the outbuilding was fully engulfed.

“Where are they?” Yolene asked.

“I don’t know. I’d expect this from the Shepherds, but not them.” The villagers had formed a sparse line from the well to the burning building. At the rate they were going, the whole building would be ash before they had carried more than a handful of buckets down the line. So far, all she’d managed to do was burn down an outhouse. They were no closer to a horse than they had been coming into Forest Edge. She glanced again at the inn, but there was nothing. Then a movement caught her eye. Around the corner of the building, two figures gestured towards the fire. The one in black tried to block the other’s path but they were pushed aside. Four armoured silhouettes charged towards the bucket line. The Shepherd limped back inside.

She turned her back on the flames and ran for the inn. Footsteps behind told her Yolene followed.

“Are you ready?” Saphielle asked.

“We don’t have a choice. I want to put as many miles between us and them as we can.”

Saphielle drew her sword just in case and stepped out into the stable yard.

“I wondered when I’d be seeing you here,” came a voice from the night. Dain Forbes emerged into a patch of moonlight. He wore a calf-length black leather coat and leant on a cane shaped like a crook. “A good distraction. I’d have done something similar in your position, though with more success. I’ll tell you something, you have been causing trouble. Trouble that your poor father simply doesn’t need.” He twisted the top of the cane and drew a thin rapier from inside it.

“So what are you going to do, drag me back to him and lock me in my tower? I’ve already escaped once. It won’t be hard to do so again.”

“Yes, that is what his Majesty would prefer. As much as he thinks you’re a traitor, you are his blood and to execute you now would sour morale. I, on the other hand, have no such qualms. A tragic accident while apprehending you. Unfortunately, you refused to come quietly and attacked me. I had to defend myself, naturally, and in doing so you sustained a fatal injury. As I said, tragic. As for your friend here, Yolene Sim Manu, I could bring her back to Brightfont to face trial, or I could save the hangman the bother.”

Yolene bristled and Saphielle stepped in front of her.

“You’re nothing but a pen pusher, a string puller. I’m impressed you know which end of that toothpick to hold. Now move, or I’ll put you back in the ground where you slithered from.”

Forbes brought his sword up into a long point, the tip trained on her chest. Saphielle raised her own sword. The shouting from the village was dying down. Their window of opportunity closing.

“Stay back, Yol. If he does manage to get me, you know what to do.” She stayed light on her toes, blade held at her hip, and closed the gap on the Shepherd. His weapon was light and thin. Quick, but more fragile than her own. For a time she’d trained with the standard issue sabre the Noonguard used, until Barok had gifted her this. A shorter sword best suited to thrusting than cutting, but with an edge on it too.

Forbes struck first. A snake-strike of a thrust she barely managed to twist aside from. She met the next with the flat of her blade, pushing it aside and pressing on inside his reach. It should have been a simple thing of a knee to the stomach, but with surprising strength he pushed her back and scored a red line across her bicep.

“A good showing, one you should be pleased with, but I have no time to humour your sad defiance. Surrender now and I’ll make it quick. I owe your father that much.”

“You know as well as I do that neither of us want that.”

Forbes grinned wickedly. “No, I don’t think we do.” He lunged again and their blades clashed together.

The Dain was like water flowing around her. No sooner had she parried one attack than he was somewhere else, probing her defences from a different angle. Saphielle gritted her teeth and fought past the pain of half a dozen small cuts to her arms and legs. Every time she thought she had him, he’d step or spin away and that damned rapier would lick out and catch her.

Every now and again she’d catch sight of Yolene watching nervously. It wasn’t only her fate riding on this duel, Yolene’s too, and everyone else who’d die if the Great Wyrm got what it wanted. She couldn’t afford to lose, but winning was starting to look like it was beyond her.

She half blocked a low lunge, wincing as the tip caught her thigh. A ragged breath caught in her throat and she almost choked on it.

Cheers erupted from the village as the smoke dissipated. That was all she needed. She had mere minutes to defeat a man who was her better in every regard. Her chest grew warm and she glanced down to check that Forbes hadn’t managed to evade her guard once more and skewer her between the ribs. Thankfully, her torso was free of steel, but the warmth continued to spread as if it was her blood leaking out. Dain Forbes retreated a few steps, that wolf-like grin smeared across his face.

“Have you made your peace yet?” The rapier hung loose from his fingers, point at the ground. His entire chest was open, just begging for her to ram her sword into his heart, but her strength deserted her. There was nothing she could do to delay her death.

“Use my token.”

Saphielle jerked her head up and stared at Forbes, but his features remained unmoving. She glanced at Yolene, her eyes full and wet, lip quivering. Neither of them had spoken.

“My token. Channel my power,” came the voice again, and she knew who it was. Simetra’s voice, heard only by her between this realm and the Goddess’. The warmth in her chest grew hotter still. She plunged her hand inside her shirt and pulled out the arrowhead. There was a glow in its centre like a spark and even as she looked at it, the glow grew brighter.

“What is that?” Dain Forbes snapped.

“Yol, look away.” Saphielle held the arrowhead higher and buried her face in her shoulder. White light seared her eyes even then. Dain Forbes gave a strangled scream. After a few moments, Saphielle risked a glance at the Shepherd. He’d stumbled back against the wall of the stables and pawed at his face, screaming. In her hand, the arrowhead still glowed like an oil lamp, but that light was fading.

“What in Simetra’s name was that?” Yolene asked.

“I heard her, Yol. That was her power.”

“You can say that again. It started shining like the sun had fallen. I only just managed to shield my eyes, or I’d have ended up like him.” She pointed at the Dain, who was still rolling on the ground whimpering. “What are you going to do with him?”

“By all rights I should kill him. With that sack of skin out of the way, I doubt we’ll have any more trouble.”

“You’d better hurry up and do it, then.” The Dain’s screams had attracted the Shepherds and they didn’t look in the mood for a conversation.

“On second thoughts, I don’t think he’ll be interfering much from now on. Grab a horse.”

The mounts were stabled two to a stall and thankfully no one had bothered to remove the saddles. More lax standards from the Shepherds. Several of the horses neighed and shied at their approach.

“Quick, open as many of the stalls as you can,” Saphielle said, unlatching the one nearest the door. As soon as she did so, the grey stallion inside reared and charged at the door, crashing it open. It missed her by less than a finger’s width. The stallion whinnied as, for a moment, it stood confused in the stable aisle, then it bolted for the door.

“What’s got into them?” Yolene asked.

“Beats me. They’ve been spooked by something, that’s for sure. The smoke or the light, perhaps.” She encouraged the second horse to follow the stallion’s path and with a hasty slap on the flank and stuck her head out of the door after it.

The Shepherds were streaming around the corner of the inn now. The one in the lead leapt in front of the horse to try and calm it down, but the animal swerved around him and caught him a glancing blow with its side. The man bounced off and hit the ground a couple of feet away, tangling the legs of those behind him and they tumbled down in a heap.

“We’ve got company.”

Yolene pulled open another two stalls and the horses within ran for the door. “Which ones do you like the look of?”

Saphielle scanned the remaining horses and her eyes settled on the two in the largest stall. She’d seen the one with the white stripe on its black face yesterday, carrying Dain Forbes.

“I think these two will do. Come on, it’s time we left.” She pulled the last few bolts back and giggled as the stables emptied to frenzied shouting from outside. Swinging herself up into the saddle, she rubbed the horse’s neck and gave its mane a stroke, the coarse hair running between her fingers. Yolene jumped onto her mount, a handsome chestnut creature, and they flicked the reins. The horses broke into a trot towards the door when a figure stepped into the frame. He was shorter and broader than the Dain, but Saphielle recognised him instantly.

Ashuto

The last few days had been a blur. Had it been four? Five? Maybe more.

Since escaping the lake, Ashuto had kept off the main roads and avoided villages, preferring to stick to the edges of the fields and copses of trees that covered much of the countryside of Alliquis. That morning the sun had risen behind him and he knew he was going at least in the vaguely correct direction. From the little he’d picked up from the Outriders regarding the temple’s location, he knew it was in the centre of a plain at the base of the mountains. If he followed the line of the distant Misttrace peaks he would eventually get there, but eventually was not good enough. Simetra’s champion was almost certainly on their way and he needed to be there to meet them. And kill them. With that thought in mind, he’d abandoned the comforting presence of the mountains and turned South West. Finally, the roads and villages had petered out and in the distance he’d seen a thick stand of trees. And now, here he was.

He approached the trees along the edge of a stream. as the trees grew closer, his feet began to sink further and further into the mud underfoot. Just when he thought he would have to wade knee-deep to reach the forest, the ground became firmer.

Only then, at the edge of the trees, did he realise his mistake. This was like no forest he’d ever seen. The air was damp and heavy and a little too warm. Trees grew from the water, their roots like gnarled hands clutching at the ground below the surface. Others leant from the small mounds of earth that breached the water at angles Ashuto never knew were possible. Ash and oak and beech all striving for life. Between them, brackish water sat in pools. Algae smothered much of the surface and thick, mossy weeds choked them beneath. Clouds of flies buzzed across the surface, occasionally kissing a patch of clear water and sending ripples across it that broke on the reed-covered banks. Years of growth and subsequent decay edged the banks in rotting plant matter. He breathed in the earthy scent of the swamp.

A breeze rustled the leaves far above him. Somewhere nearby, water trickled as it moved from pool to pool. He glanced over his shoulder to the edge of the swamp. The mountains would still be there, nothing stopping him turning around and walking back to them, taking the long way round.

He sighed. The Great Wyrm would not allow an excuse like that. Besides, it was only a swamp, how big could it be?

A ridge of higher ground wove between the pools. Grass erupted in hardy tufts and lichen coated the stones that poked through the mud. Though his boots had kept his feet protected and mostly dry until this point, he did not want to risk wading through the water. Not least because the image of the beast at the lake still haunted him. The way it had dispatched the Alliquean soldiers with such dispassionate ease. The route along the higher ground may not have been direct, but it was almost certainly safer.

It was an interesting landscape. Not one he had come across back home, and one he would very much have liked to explore further. As he wandered, he sketched the path in his mind, deciding how best he would transcribe it to parchment when he had the chance. They were not paths he was on, not made by humans anyway, but they sufficed to keep him out of the water.

At some point during the afternoon, he couldn’t tell when, as the trees obscured the sun for much of the time, Ashuto came around a corner and almost walked into a stone pillar sticking up from the ground. The pillar came up to his waist and was partly covered with a blanket of moss.

In front of him, the path branched into four separate forks and he stopped, resting against the pillar. Absent-mindedly, he ran his hand along the stone surface and was surprised to find undulations and patterns. He pulled off some of the moss to reveal a weathered carving of a symbol he didn’t recognise. Rooting around in his satchel, he pulled out a small roll of parchment and a stick of charcoal. This would be a good waypoint through the swamp if he ever needed to retrace his steps. With four other paths to choose from, that course of action wouldn’t be out of the question. He pulled off more of the moss to get a better look at the column. It must have been truly old as parts of it crumbled away when he removed the moss. With quick strokes he captured the shape of the mound on which he stood and the five spokes that ran from it into the swamp.

At the confluence of these paths several tracks were gouged into the mud. He recognized some – deer, boar and fox – but others were less familiar. If he’d had more time, he would have loved to explore the paths a little further and map where they went, but the Great Wyrm would not take kindly to any delays. There would be plenty of time once the Ilskini had fallen to return and document it all properly.

As he put the finishing touches to the crude map, there was a splash behind him and he spun. A ripple extended across the surface of the nearest dark pool but other than that, there was nothing there. Must have been a fish coming up for air. He returned to the drawing, rolling it up and placing it carefully inside the satchel. The noise came again. He turned more slowly this time and there, at the edge of the water was some sort of small creature. It had a frog-like face but it stood on two legs, coming up no higher than the middle of his shin. It was a similar green to the moss that covered the trunks of most of the trees, with blue veins running over the skin.

“Hello, little guy. What are you doing here? I suppose that’s a silly question. This is your home, isn’t it? It would be better to ask what am I doing here? And the answer to that is, I’m not very sure. Trying to get out I guess. I don’t suppose you can point me in the right direction.”

The creature cocked its head as if it was listening but, of course, it did not reply. It did, however, lollop closer. Its movement was somewhere between that of a toad and a rabbit. Small tentative leaps across the muddy ground. Another ripple and a second head popped up at the edge of the water. This one was brown with a purple tinge. It crawled out to join the first.

“Are you both hungry?” Ashuto asked, delving back into his satchel to find a morsel of food. His rations were precious, but a couple of crumbs couldn’t hurt. He held them out and the creatures bounded forward.

“Here you go, friends.”

The green one, the larger of the two, sniffed at the offering. Its long tongue shot out and tasted the morsel, leaving a thin film of saliva on Ashuto’s fingers. In a flash, the creature jumped forward and a sharp pain emanated from the pad of his thumb. Blood dripped from a small wound on the pad of his thumb but the scrap of bread was still there.

“Ouch, that hurt.”

The creature shrieked a high-pitched sound that warbled at the back of its throat and this was picked up by its companion. A heartbeat later and the cry echoed around him, repeated again and again from scores of hidden throats in the reeds.

“Hush now, before you attract something with sharper teeth,” he said, wiping his thumb on the cleanest part of his cloak and jamming it in his mouth.

Another half a dozen of the creatures appeared behind him, each one a slightly different shade of green or grey or brown. The one he had tried to feed darted forwards and Ashuto jerked his hand back before its needle-like teeth could sink into his flesh and reality dawned on him. It wasn’t his food they were after. It was him.

He got to his feet and backed away. By now, there are over twenty of the things surrounding him. The green one hurled itself at him and Ashuto met it with a boot, sending it flying backwards and hitting the water with a splash. The rest surged forwards as more and more of them appeared above the water.

He pulled a sturdy branch off a dead tree and waved it like a club in their direction.

“Stay back, I’m warning you.” He doubted their ability to grasp language, but all the same it made him feel better. The numbers had swollen to closing on a hundred. Even though they were a tenth of his size, that many teeth could do an awful lot of damage and he was surrounded on all sides. He swung the branch in a scything arc and the front rank of the creatures jumped back.

“Go on. Get out of here!” he yelled. Though they looked like frogs on their hind legs, they displayed close-to-human emotion. Frog-children? No, that made them sound innocent and they were far from that. Toadmen, then.

The weight of the Great Wyrm’s scale sat heavy in his pocket and the creature’s instructions returned to mind.

I only protect those who are worthy.

If he was going to use it, he would need the blood of one of these Toadmen. Would this be enough? There were a hundred of them. Would it protect him from just the one whose blood he took, or from all of them? It was not a risk he could take. Not yet, anyway. Not with so few uses.

One of them, bolder than the rest, took a great jump forward, baring its tiny teeth. On the end of its webbed fingers were viciously hooked claws. Its tongue whipped out and Ashuto brought the stick up just in time to deflect it. The barbs on the creature’s tongue dug into the wood and for a moment it was stuck before it wrenched itself free. Ashuto grasped the stick in two hands and swung it like a club. It cracked into the creature’s skull and the thing dropped still. Another jumped out and he caught it with a backhanded blow, sending it spinning, its spine almost certainly broken.

This wasn’t so hard after all. He’d spent hours watching the Outriders train and spar. He tried a feint and jabbed at the head of the particularly rotund creature. It flinched and he spun, clubbing another down into red goo.

The chorus of clicks and croaks was almost deafening. One segment of the circle of creatures pushed in at him and he hacked them back. A single swing knocked half a dozen aside and hit just as many on the return. He was a colossus and they were nothing but an inconvenience, yet an inconvenience that was stealing his time, and that was the one thing he didn’t have. He picked one of the four paths that looked the most westerly-headed and marched forward. Tiny bones crunched under his boots and his makeshift weapon battered bodies aside like they were apples in the orchards where he used to play as a child.

In his wake, he left dozens of corpses and soon the creatures began to fall back. With a swift kick he booted the last one out of the way and made it to clear ground. He looked back to find the creatures still looking at him but they now seemed wary. He feinted a step towards them and they shrank back.

Good. That would show them he was not somebody to be taken lightly.

Even as he watched, the creatures lost interest in him and leapt on the bodies of their fallen brethren, tearing them apart with claws and teeth.

Ashuto shuddered. It was very nearly his flesh being devoured. Was there nothing in this damned country that didn’t want to kill him? He kept a close watch over his shoulder until he was sure the creatures weren’t following him. For a while he had been terrified, certain he was going to perish at the hands of tiny Toadmen but as the fighting had gone on adrenaline had surged through him. That must have been how the Unbreakables felt when the enemies of Firthen broke themselves on their shields. He was unstoppable. Perhaps he would make a better warrior than he thought. Perhaps, that was why the Great Wyrm made him his champion. Who knew what the Great Wyrm could see in him, that he himself couldn’t?

Whilst his blood was pumping, he pushed on. There was still a way to go through this swamp and if every pool held something like those creatures, he didn’t want to spend a minute longer here than he had to. He kept the stick with him, just in case, and every splash and ripple painted a picture of yet something else that wanted his blood. Eventually though, his heightened senses wore off and his legs became heavy, his eyes tired. He’d not eaten all day, not even when he stopped to feed the frog creatures. If he’d been thinking straight, he should have taken some of the bodies with him. They were unlikely to be the tastiest meat he’d ever eaten, but his supplies were running low and he didn’t know how long he would be walking until he found somewhere to stock up. Even his knowledge of plants was barely useful, as most of the leaves and flowers around him he didn’t recognise.

With the sun dipping lower, he needed somewhere to rest. If the swamp was this dangerous during the day, he dreaded to think how bad it would be once the sun went down.

A shape caught his eye a little way up the path. Straight edges and clean angles hidden amongst the vines and creepers. Something not grown from the ground, but made by the hands of men. Lifting his rudimentary club, he edged forward, listening intently for any danger. He reached the shape and recognised it immediately as the corner of a wall and a chimney breast made of stone. The rest of what used to be a house lay in a fallen ruin around him, mostly reclaimed by the swamp. A dozen paces away was another wall, a low one. The closer he looked, the more man-made objects and outlines appeared amongst the plants. How long ago had this been a village? And why wasn’t it anymore?

The breeze had died and the noises of a swamp during the day that he had become accustomed to were silent, replaced with the chirping of hidden insects. Whatever he decided to do, he could not go on until morning. Deadly animals aside, in the dark he was just as likely to end up walking into one of the pools as he was to go around them. He would eat, sleep, and start again at first light.

One of the buildings was more intact than the others. Two full walls and a partial third, draped in tapestries of ivy. In the middle of the room, where the dining table might have been before it was lost to time, sat a large boulder covered in shaggy moss. It must have ended up there after the house had been abandoned, as it was a strange thing to have built a dwelling around. He pondered for a moment how it had gotten there. This was the highest point around for a while and it couldn’t have rolled down from anywhere above. Maybe it had grown legs and walked here.

Ashuto chuckled. There were many strange things about the swamp, but that was certainly impossible. Either way, the moss looked comfortable and he could hide himself between the boulder and the wall, finding as much protection as possible.

As he approached the boulder, a low rumbling permeated the air.

“Amul, no. Not now.” Wilden had told him of this, when the very earth itself breathed and shifted with no care for what humans had built atop. He ran for the boulder and pressed himself deep into the thick fur-like moss, trusting the boulder to deflect any falling debris. The walls, however, remained standing without even a wobble. Vibrations shook his bones and teeth, but the trees around the clearing swayed serenely in the gentle wind. Was he going mad? There were enough bizarre things in the swamp to drive a man to insanity. He pushed himself off the boulder and the world stopped moving, leaving behind only the sonorous grumble. Then it stopped. A dreadful silence filled the clearing, waiting for something terrible to break it.

The boulder shook and rose.

Saphielle

The figure in the doorway laughed a dry, humourless laugh.

“Well, look who it is,” Fishbait sneered. There was enough light from the lanterns that flanked the door to illuminate his foppish blonde hair and curled lip. “I knew you’d end up in trouble one day, you never were Noonguard material. I’m just happy that I’m going to be the one who brings you in.” He drew his sword and settled into a fighter’s crouch.

“You always did have a high opinion of yourself. How about I leave you on your arse again on my way out?” She dug her heels into the horse and it leapt forward. She didn’t even need her weapon. As she got within a few yards of Fishbait, the bravado drained from him and he threw himself aside, eyes wide with fear.

Saphielle whooped. Outside, the Shepherds were trying to round up the horses, while a couple tended to Dain Forbes. He was sitting up and had a wet rag pressed against his eyes. The light had hurt even with her eyes covered. It must have been a hundred times worse for the Dain. She struggled to find any pity for the man. The wind took her hair and sent it streaming out behind her. Now the Shepherds noticed them and made half-hearted attempts to grab the bridle, but the horse was the wind on four legs and it swept through them with ease.

She thundered down the shallow hill to the village, Yolene behind. The outbuilding smouldered and belched white smoke into the dark sky. A few horses had stopped to munch on the tufts of grass along the edge of the road. The rest, she fancied, were a smudge at the furthest reaches of her vision.

“We need to put distance between us and them,” she shouted. “They can’t know where we’re going.” That’s when it struck her. What if they did know? What if the answer had been staring her in the face? The Great Wyrm had chosen a champion, and that champion’s goal was to stop her defeating the Wyrm. Dain Forbes had done everything in his power to stop her and return her to Lendas. She had no doubt that the order came from her father’s mouth, but it wouldn’t have taken much to influence such a command.

“I should’ve stuck him when I had the chance.”

“What’s that?”

“Forbes. I have a hunch he’s the champion. It makes sense when you think about it. Why else would he be so intent on stopping me?” She checked over her shoulder to make sure the Shepherds weren’t following, but the road was empty. Clearly they’d left enough of a mess to be getting on with. The next time Simetra graced her dreams, she’d tell her what she suspected.

“Better hope you’ve done some proper damage, then. He won’t give up easily if that is the case.”

“Believe me, I have no delusions of him giving up, but he’s lost his biggest weapon. Surprise. If he is what I think,. I won’t underestimate him again.” Something that was likely to be reciprocated. She’d hurt him, whether the damage was temporary or not, and he wasn’t going to forget that. Dain Forbes was not a man to take insult lightly.

Nana had better have been looking after Mirabelle properly. She wasn’t doing all this for nothing.

They rode the horses as far and as hard as they could without killing them. The sun had risen and set by the time they dared to stop. Saphielle’s horse almost collapsed when she slid off the saddle to lead the animal to a shallow puddle at the edge of the road.

“Is that safe for drinking?” Yolene asked, also dismounting.

“It’s water isn’t it, why shouldn’t it be?”

“We don’t know how long it’s been standing there. It could be tainted or something.”

“Stop fretting. I’m sure it’s fine. It’s not as if I’m drinking it. Why don’t you go and find somewhere we can build a fire and I’ll check the area.” Yolene muttered something under her breath. “What was that?”

“Nothing, forget it.” Yolene spun on her heels and prowled off towards a small stand of trees that stood black against the inky darkness.

“What was that about, hey?” Saphielle said softly to her horse, who’d finally stopped lapping at the puddle. She got a whiff of something unpleasant but ignored it. Maybe Yolene was right. She’d make sure they boiled anything before drinking it.

The trees Yolene was heading to would be alright for a camp, as long as no one searched too closely. They’d just have to be careful with the fire. Couldn’t have something as silly as that giving them away.

For a moment she leant against the horse, filtered out its nickering, and listened to the wind. An owl called to its mate and something small rustled in the foliage beside the road, but other than that, they appeared to be alone.

“You got that fire going yet?” she asked, joining Yolene in the copse.

“Give me a bloody chance, I’ve only just got here.”

“Alright, calm down. I was only asking.”

“Well, don’t. You can keep it to yourself.”

“What’s got into you lately, Yol? You’re acting like I’ve slapped your mother in front of you or something.”

Yolene shook her head and tossed another chunk of wood onto the fire. “Forget I said anything.”

“No, there’s clearly something bothering you. Why don’t you just come out and say it?”

“Fine, you really want to know what’s on my mind?”

“Spit it out.”

“That stunt you pulled back in the village with the fire, that was beyond reckless. You had no idea whether that fire would spread or not, and you put everyone who lived there at risk. They’re your own people. One day, you might even be ruling them, and you’re prepared to do that to them. You need to start thinking of someone other than Saphielle Sim Donest.”

Yolene’s words were like blow to her stomach. “Did I just hear you right?”

“It’s true, you don’t think of anyone except yourself.”

“Why would I be putting myself through all this if I didn’t care about other people? I’m here precisely because I’m thinking of others.”

“That’s not what I mean. No one can deny that you’re our only hope, but I could be anyone sitting here and you’d treat them the same as you’re treating me. Just a pair of hands to do things for you. When was the last time you thought about what I wanted, or really cared about my opinion?”

“Yol, you’ve got to understand, if I don’t do this, no one will.”

Yolene raised her hands to try and dispel some of the anger growing in Saphielle’s breast. “I know that, but you are allowed to listen to other people. It doesn’t all have to rest squarely on your shoulders. Besides, would you still be here if there was another way to keep Mirabelle safe? Would you still be risking everything you had?”

“That’s not fair. Does it really matter what my motivations are, if the outcome is the same?”

“It depends on what you do to achieve it. Sometimes, the end doesn’t always justify the means. Sometimes, the goal isn’t what we thought we wanted.”

“If you think that, then why are you still here? Why did you come with me in the first place? I’m risking everything to do this, Yol, everything.” Her voice started to crack and the corners of her eyes stung with tears.

“I’ve not forgotten that.”

“Hundreds of thousands of people will die if I fail.”

“Not if you fail. If we fail, but I’m not here because of them, Saph. Quite honestly, I don’t care if the Great Wyrm is defeated or not. I’m here because you’re here. I’m following you, not some grand notion of saving the world. In all honesty, you are my world.”

Yolene’s eyes were bright and damp as they met each other’s gaze. That was enough to break Saphielle’s final resistance and a sob fought its way free. She sprang forward and wrapped her arms around Yolene, pleased to find her friend doing the same, and they cried together. All the tension that had built up over the last few days was washed away by the saltwater running down her cheeks.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Yol.” She sniffed and wiped her nose on her shoulder.

Yolene laughed. “Probably get yourself killed doing something stupid, so it’s a good job I’m still around.”

After they’d eaten, they fell asleep cuddled together beside the fire as they had done when they were children, and the only dream Saphielle had was of a warm bath and duck down.

Three days later, the small Hamlet of Four Oaks appeared as they came over a low rise. A clutch of unloved houses with decaying thatch and fading limewash sat around the fork that Temple Street split into. The larger path curved away to the south and the smaller continued straight on.

“How many oaks do you count?” Saphielle asked as they rode closer.

“Just the one. I wonder what happened to the other three.”

“Firewood, if I had to guess.” The remaining oak stood between the forks. Five people would not have been able to wrap their arms around its trunk. The ground around it was littered with acorn shells. It would have been a quaint image, if not for the body hanging from a noose tied to one of the lower branches. A crow cawed at them as they got nearer, eventually taking enough offence to fly off the corpse’s shoulder, where it had been pecking at the cheek, and landing on a higher bough, glaring at them in disgust. The movement caused the body to spin slowly around and reveal the sign around its neck.

Thief.

“What do you reckon he stole?” Saphielle asked.

“Must have been something valuable to end up like that, poor bugger.”

“Ain’t nothing poor about him,” someone growled from behind them. “There’s precious little food to go around at the moment without the likes’o him taking what doesn’t belong, so if that’s your intention I suggest you turn around and ride back the way y’came.”

Saphielle turned to see who’d answered. A white-haired man with thin cheeks and furrows in his forehead as deep as the Cut regarded them with cunning eyes.

“We’re not here to take what’s yours. All we want is to get to Simetra’s Temple, so if you could point us in the right direction, we’ll leave you right alone.”

“Hmm, rest assured I’ll be keeping my eye on you two. If you want to reach the temple safely, go that way.” He pointed at the larger road. “But if you want to get there quickly, take the old road. It goes right through Blackmire Swamp and cuts sixty miles off the length. Help get away from whatever it is you’re running from…”

“How did you– never mind. Thank you for the directions. I never caught your name.” She held a hand out for the man to shake, but he looked disdainfully at it.

“I never gave it. You can call me Rawl, elder of this village.”

“I’m Saph–”

“I don’t care who you are. I just want you out of my village as soon as possible. Times like these, it doesn’t pay to allow strangers to linger for too long. Now keep your hands to yourselves and be on your way.” He folded his arms and stared them down. Under the man’s scrutiny, Saphielle wanted nothing more than to leave. She formed a huddle with Yolene for a modicum of privacy.

“Which way do we want to go?” she asked.

“Right now, I don’t care. I just want to get away from them.” Yolene nodded at the corpse and the man who looked like one. “We both know the stories of the things that live in the swamp, though. It may be the shorter path but speed means nothing if we’re dead.”

“I don’t want to spend any more time here than you do. I get that it’s a risk, but the extra sixty miles is at least another two days. My vote is through the swamp. Worst case, we take the long route and Forbes is waiting for us when we arrive, alternatively, we could steal two days on them and have the Bow before the Dain even sets eyes on the temple. I don’t think we really have a choice.”

“For once, I actually agree with you.” Yolene dug her elbow playfully into Saphielle’s ribs. They straightened up and Saphielle took her horse’s reins.

“We’ll be on our way, then,” she said.

Rawl nodded but the furrow on his brow remained.

Ashuto

Four shaggy legs appeared beneath the boulder and what Ashuto had mistaken for moss became unmistakably fur. The thing that was no longer a boulder turned slowly, revealing a thick barrel of a body and a head that would leave him with nightmares.

The bear, for that was what it was, though ten times larger than any bear he’d seen before, fixed him with beady black eyes. Grey-green fur covered every inch of its body. Had the roof of the hut remained, the bear’s back would have been straining against the eaves and likely snapping them into kindling. It roared, sending flecks of spittle flying through the air to rain on Ashuto’s face, and joined the long list of creatures that wanted him for dinner. If not for the claws and the murderous look in its eyes, it would have been majestic. A strange thought to fixate on when staring at death.

He backed away a few paces on legs that had no right to support him. If he could only get a head start, he could lose the beast among the ruins and disappear into the swamp.

The bear took a single step that ate a quarter of the distance between them. Perhaps that wouldn’t work after all. He felt for the scale, not taking his eyes off the creature.

As his fingers brushed the rough surface, the bear charged. Its jaws snapped shut an inch above Ashuto’s head. Saliva dripped down his neck.

He rolled forward between the bear’s legs and ran. There was a good foot of clearance between the top of his head and the matted fur of the creature’s belly. Had he been martially inclined, he could’ve cut the beast open, but he had nothing sharper than a stick. Bursting out from under the bear’s tail, Ashuto sprinted for cover.

He caught a glimpse of the creature in the corner of his eye. It looked around in confusion that its dinner hadn’t ended up in its mouth, but that lasted only as long as it took Ashuto’s foot to hit the ground. It spun more gracefully than anything of its size had the right to and charged again.

Ashuto jagged one way then the other, diving through a narrow gap between two walls. If he didn’t know which way he was going, the bear certainly wouldn’t. He paused for a moment against a fragment of wall to catch his breath and listen for the beast. Nothing. Not a snuffle or growl or heavy footstep.

He braved a peek around the wall. The section of the clearing he could see was deserted. His bladder was ready to burst, his mouth like dust.

The wall erupted in a blast of dust and shards of brick, picking Ashuto up and hurling him across the clearing as the bear crashed through the abandoned masonry.

Blood trickled down the side of his head. His legs were weak and the clearing swam in front of his eyes. This was an impossible situation. He couldn’t fight it, couldn’t outrun it, and in his current state he’d struggle to outsmart it either.

That left one option. The Great Wyrm’s token sat heavy in his pocket. Only those who are worthy. A blood offering to the Great Wyrm, not his own blood, but that of the bear. Maybe if he asked nicely, the bear would let him have a drop.

The creature shook off the rubble from its shoulders and bared its fangs. A mapmaker’s apprentice was not born nor built to face such things. Any pretence of considering himself and Unbreakable had fled. Now the slimmest chance he had of survival was to injure the bear enough to draw blood. A near impossible task even if he had a spear or bow. He drew the sharpest implement he possessed, a wooden stylus for writing on wax tablets, three inches long. It wouldn’t even get through the bear’s fur. He clenched his fist around the scale – frustration and fear filling him like twin rivers – and winced. When he withdrew his hand, his palm was red with blood where the scale had cut open the pad of his thumb. He sucked the blood from the cut and smiled.

The beast fixed him with a look and bellowed a challenge. Ashuto sprinted for the tree in the middle of the settlement midway between the two of them.

The bear charged again. A straight race. Ten feet. Eight.

That half-second head start had made the difference. He planted a foot on the remains of a wall and launched himself for the lower branches as the bear swiped, claws slashing the air where his legs had just been. He hit the branch heavily and gasped as the stub of a twig gouged out a chunk of his side. Bears could climb, he knew that, but his plan wasn’t to escape it vertically.

The creature turned its pitiless eyes towards him. Ashuto scrambled higher as the bear approached the base of the tree. It knew it had him cornered and the chase was up. Good. That was what he hoped. The bear reared onto its hind legs and for a terrifying moment Ashuto thought he had not climbed high enough. Claws tore bark from the branch below. He grasped the scale and leapt.

Wind rushed past his face and he twisted in midair like a cat to face the bear’s back. One of the curved tips of the scale dug into the bear’s flesh and tore open a gash. The bear roared in pain as Ashuto crashed to the ground, the impact taking his breath away. A trickle of his own blood ran down his side. This had to work, or he’d delivered himself fresh and squirming right to the bear’s table.

One corner of the scale was scarlet with the creature’s blood. It began to bubble and smoke as the scale absorbed the liquid. The bear slammed back onto all fours and towered over him, oblivious of the damage the scale had caused.

With a muffled pop, the last of the blood disappeared into its surface.

“A worthy opponent.” The Great Wyrm’s voice was like distant thunder in his mind. “And you, my champion, have drawn its blood. Well done.” The scale turned colder than ice in an instant. Ashuto yelped and dropped it as if he’d been burned. The instant the scale hit the ground, frost began to creep across the moss and mud, spreading from the Great Wyrm’s token.

The bear growled, oblivious to anything other than its dinner lying at its feet. Saliva dripped from its jaws which froze as it touched the ground, and still the frost spread.

Where it touched Ashuto, it tingled like he’d fallen asleep on his arm and the blood was returning. Was this all the protection the Great Wyrm was going to provide, a touch of frost? He saw worse every morning for a third of the year. Surely so powerful a creature could do more? It only had one champion and he’d done everything the Wyrm had asked so far. Why would it risk losing him?

The bear took a step and Ashuto braced himself for the swift finality of crushing jaws. The beast growled, but it wasn’t the terrifying rumble it had given before. If anything, it was more of a whimper. Ashuto looked across the bed of ground ice and found the bear’s front paw already smothered by the frost.

“Where are you, to have angered such a thing?” the Wyrm asked.

“A swamp on route to Simetra’s Temple, where I intend to intercept her champion.” The ice now held both the bear’s front legs in thrall, spreading up to its shoulders. With a bellow, it pulled one paw free and the ice shattered like breaking glass.

“No,” Ashuto gasped. The bear lashed at him, though with one leg still anchored, the scythe-like claws passed a foot above his face.

The Great Wyrm laughed. “The beast is untameable. It is the embodiment of the swamp – an ancient union of the old creatures and the Ilskini. My powers, diluted as they are through you, cannot destroy it. Nor do I wish to. Like you, this beast will be useful to me once the power of the Ilskini is mine alone. I must admit, I had expected any aid you requested of me to be against more of your kind. I tell you, the power in my token is more than capable of snuffing out humans. For now, I urge you to retreat. There is no harm in knowing when to step back from a fight. I shall not interfere for long – after all, I need my champion to show strength and initiative – but I will hold the creature long enough for you to leave.”

Ashuto scrambled to his feet as ice exploded outwards. It latched on to the bear’s limbs and body, encasing it in frozen armour that rooted it to the spot.

Without waiting for a second invitation, Ashuto ran.

Pel

I wanted to shout at the slow procession clambering across the Knife Edge. Treti, at the front, was only two thirds of the way across, Michela a few steps behind. Every move she made was glacial.

“She does realise what’s behind us, right?” I asked Harunath.

“Of course she does, she’s not simple. This ridge is hard enough to cross on a clear day, let alone in these conditions. Anyway, it was your idea to send those slowest across first. What was it you said? Something about women and children first?”

“I know what I said,” I snapped. “Doesn’t make it feel any better though.”

Orbur had arranged her Hunters into a cordon around the base of the ridge. We all knew they’d be of little help if the Wyrm reached us, but they gave us some semblance of protection.

I met the Hunter chief’s gaze and nodded.

She returned the gesture, though she couldn’t keep her nerves hidden. I’d never thought of Hunters as people who got scared. They spent their lives out here facing down all sorts of deadly creatures and situations. Yet they were human, or close to it, so it stood to reason they had the range of human emotions. She turned away and went back to scanning the worsening snow for any glimpse of the Wyrm.

“I’m going to die of old age if they don’t hurry up.” Rawl hobbled up beside me, wrapped in as many blankets as we could rescue from the sleds. There had been a short but sharp discussion over what to do with them. Ileta had wanted to get them across the ravine. While this had been the original plan, of course, Harunath argued it would delay us too much. In the end, Harunath had won the popular vote, so the sleds had been raided for anything carriable and the rest abandoned with a view to collect them in the morning, provided we survived that long.

“You chose to wait on this side,” I replied.

“Well, yes, but I had a noble death in mind when I volunteered. Nothing more noble than getting your old bones stuck in a White Wyrm’s gullet and choking the damn thing. Boredom was never on the agenda.”

“No one is going to be dying of anything,” Harunath said. “We’ll all get across and be in the Sanctuary before the Wyrm shows its hideous snout.”

“We’ll all die one day, warden. It’s just how we face it that marks us out.”

There was a shout from the ridge and all three of us whipped round, expecting the worst. However, Treti stood on the far side with Michela held against her, waving at us. I waved back and grinned. Two down, just the rest of us to go. As we watched, more and more made the final jump to safe ground.

My plan looked to be paying off. Every minute that passed without the Wyrm appearing through the driving snow allowed more and more of us to traverse the ridge. Soon there were only a handful of people still on the near side, myself, Rawl and Harunath included.

“Go on, get going,” the warden said, pushing us in the direction of the ravine. “You’ve still got the perimeter, Orbur?”

“You can count on us.” The Hunter fiddled with the top nock of her bow and shot a furtive glance down the slope. If I was being honest, I’d rather not have to.

“Quick question, are we sure the Wyrm can’t just climb after us?”

Harunath chuckled uneasily. “It will certainly give it a try now it has our scent, but it’s a big thing and the ridge is narrow. There’s a chance it won’t be able to cross at all. That’s not our main protection, though. Look, the Sanctuary is expecting us.” Sure enough, I could just make out the shapes of people battling towards the gates.

“So, our grand plan for survival is simply ‘hope the terrifying creature can’t climb’? By Amul’s wrinkly balls, it’s a surprise to me you’ve not tripped over your own feet and staved your skull in,” Rawl said.

Harunath turned and looked over at him. “Alright, old man. Let’s hear it. What’s your genius suggestion?”

“I leave the thinking to those with vim and imagination. Us elders are here to tell stories and let you know when you’re doing something wrong. That’s how it’s always been and how it will continue. It’s the natural way of the world.”

“I’ve had enough of you. Pel, take this layabout with you and get him to the other side. Drag him if you have to, but I can’t stand his prattle any longer.”

“You’re the boss,” I said. I grabbed Rawl’s shoulder through his cocoon of blankets and steered him towards the ravine.

Modrik greeted me with a raised hand. “From what Harunath said about the ridge, I was expecting it to be twice as long and three times as steep. So far it’s been like falling off a log. Oops, maybe not an appropriate idiom.”

“It seems we’ve avoided any mishaps so far. Let’s hope we can keep it that way. You’re up.”

Modrik nodded and found the first holds. “Watch where I’m putting my hands and feet,” he called back to Rawl.

The old man rolled his eyes. “I’ve been climbing things longer than you’ve known how to wipe your own arse,” he growled. He shuffled to the base of the ridge and shed the blankets like a skin. Very deliberately, he chose different starting holds. I waited a few minutes until there was enough space between us to start my own climb.

The moment I touched the rockface, my hands turned to ice. I found a hold for my foot and like that I was over the ravine. I hadn’t climbed in twenty years. Not since the time I got myself stuck halfway up a cliff and my father had to rescue me. Since that day, I’d had a healthy distrust of heights. In that regard, I was grateful for the low visibility. The snow formed a white cloud beneath me and for a moment I was convinced that, if I fell, I’d land in a bank of snow barely a few feet away.

Rawl had managed to put another few yards between us while I wobbled. To give the old man credit, he wasn’t moaning anymore and the years hadn’t stiffened his fingers. I uncurled the claw that was my hand, reaching for the next crack in the rock.

Three points of contact. That’s what my father had told me way back then. You can’t fall if you follow that mantra. I had absolutely no desire to prove him wrong.

Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot.

Keep that up all the way across and I’d have no issues. I lost track of time as I went along. The only thing I could see was the rock in front of me, and occasionally a glimpse of Rawl in the corner of my eye. I wrapped my hand around a protrusion of stone and moved my foot to the next hold. Despite my thick boots, I felt its pressure through my sole and transferred my weight across. There was a crack and I dropped as the rock fell away.

My shoulders were wrenched half out of their sockets, but my stomach continued to fall. My gaze swept downwards, even as I tried not to, and I saw through the drifting snowfall, way beneath my dangling feet, the ground. Instantly I was lightheaded. I fought to draw in the next breath and, despite the bitter cold, I started to sweat. My fingers slipped as I desperately latched on, scrabbling for a foothold, anything to stabilise myself.

Rawl was a dozen yards away, not looking in my direction, and there was no one coming after me. If I fell here, nobody would even know what happened. They’d reach the Sanctuary and I would have simply vanished. Using every ounce of my strength, I hauled myself up.

My toes found a narrow shelf and relief washed over me. My heart pounded double time, breath fast and shallow, but I was alive, for now anyway. No doubt my arms would be killing me come the morning. A small price to pay for my life.

“It’s here!” Harunath’s voice was carried by the wind.

I looked back the way I had come and almost fell again.

The Wyrm was huge, even half the ridge away. Its form was obscured by the sheeting snow, but I could make out a terrible head and a tail at least four times longer than I was tall. Harunath and the hunters had retreated to a small cluster at the foot of the ridge.

“Come on, what are you all waiting for?” I yelled. With their agility, the Hunters would be able to skip across the top of the Knife Edge like they were having a stroll around the Sanctuary, and Harunath would have no trouble with the climb. Yet even as I watched, one of the Hunters darted forward.

“It’s Orbur,” Harunath shouted back. “She’s hurt her ankle and can’t walk. The Hunters won’t leave her, and I can’t leave them. You go, let Ileta and the others know what’s happening.” Almost everyone was across now. Only Modrik and Rawl still clung to the rock and they were almost there. I very nearly turned my back on Harunath and crossed the rest of the ravine, then there was a not-quite-human yelp of pain somewhere within the snow.

“Sorry, I’m coming to help.” I didn’t know exactly how I was going to be useful, but I couldn’t stand there while someone was in danger, especially Orbur. I knew hardly anything about her, but we’d built a mutual bond over the course of our journey and the guilt of leaving her would weigh heavily if I failed to act.

I pulled myself higher up the ridge and worked my way back to where I’d come from. As I got closer, I could see what was going on. Orbur lay stricken on the ground some fifty paces from the ridge, clasping her ankle, her face contorted into a mask of agony.

The Wyrm loomed over her. Its fierce, cold eyes carried only death within them. When it opened its jaws, it revealed two rows of fangs. The Hunter didn’t stand a chance, even without her injury.

Something ricocheted off the Wyrm’s scaled neck and it snapped its head around. Carow already had another arrow nocked and drawn. The Wyrm lashed the air with its tail and Carow flung himself to the ground to avoid having his head taken clean off. Another Hunter ran forwards, loosing as he went. Again, the arrow bounced off, but it drew the creature’s attention. Suddenly I understood what they were doing and I jumped the last couple of yards into the snow.

“Grab Orbur and drag her over here.”

I might have saved my breath though, as two Hunters darted from the huddle towards their injured leader. Getting her across the Knife Edge would be a different challenge, one I wasn’t quite sure how to solve. I swept my gaze along the ridge. Modrik was mere feet from safety, with Rawl close behind.

Without warning, the Wyrm roared and slammed its tail into the ground. I felt the vibrations through the soles of my boots. Rawl flinched at the sound and gestured in my direction. Probably something rude.

I only saw what happened next through sheer coincidence. A rock had worked its way loose at the top of the ridge, either through wind or weather or the tremor of the beast’s tail, and it chose that moment to fall. It bounced once on the rock face and caught Rawl’s shoulder hard.

The force of the blow spun the old man away from the cliff so that he was holding on with a single hand. I shouted. Rawl shouted. Then his hand came loose and he dropped into the ravine as if he’d never been there.

“What’s the matter?” Harunath asked over his shoulder.

“It’s… Rawl’s gone. He fell.”

This got the warden’s attention and he whirled around. “The old man’s gone? You’re sure?”

I nodded slowly, not quite believing what I was saying. “I saw him lose his grip. One moment he was there, the next he was gone.”

“By the snows, I thought he was going to outlive us all.”

“You’ll be following him if you don’t get moving,” Lasarusa interjected, the Frosthawk talons around her neck rattling in the wind. She was pointing at the Wyrm. Four Hunters surrounded it, each taking it in turns to ping an arrow of its hide. In a few places, the points had stuck between the creature’s scales and jutted out like splinters.

Two others had Orbur under each arm and were dragging her through the snow, carving a furrow in their wake. Orbur’s face screwed with pain and she winced further every time her dragging heel hit a bump. The rest of the Hunters reached out to take her as she got within arm’s reach. They formed a chain up to the crest of the ridge and passed her up. One carried her legs and another held her under her arms. It was as if they were walking on flat ground the way they moved effortlessly along the top.

With Orbur out of the Wyrm’s jaws, one of them gave a sharp cry. The four Hunters occupying the creature returned their arrows to their quivers and bolted in four different directions. The Wyrm stood there, looking from one retreating form to another, unsure of which target to go for. It returned its gaze to the morsel that should have been helpless at its feet. When it realised Orbur was gone, it roared again and thrashed the ground with its tail.

“We’d best get across,” Harunath said, nudging me towards the ridge. “It’s a shame what happened to Rawl, but we don’t have time to mourn him yet. We need to get to the Sanctuary.”

I shook the fog from inside my head and nodded. The climb was easier this time and I swiftly reached the point where I’d stopped before. Harunath was frustratingly agile for a man of his size and didn’t appear to even be out of breath. Tall, broad and fleet-footed. It simply wasn’t fair.

On the other side of the Cutrock, the Wyrm stamped the snow into packed ice. Kernick was the only one not on the ridge, marshalling us to safety. Above me, one of the Hunters carrying Orbur slipped, scattering gravel into my face. They held their balance but dropped Orbur’s legs.

Her injured foot smashed into the rock and she screamed in pain. That sound must have triggered something in the Wyrm as it stopped thrashing and turned towards the noise. Maybe it knew its prey was injured and vulnerable, or maybe it wanted revenge on those who’d stolen its kill. Either way, it charged the ridge. A swipe of its head knocked Kernick aside and it crashed into the rock. The impact shook the ridge again and I gripped tighter onto the rockface. I half expected one of the Hunters to fall. If it had been humans up there, I had no doubt we’d have lost another, but the Hunters were hardier than us. Possessed of animal instincts that kept them alive in situations where they probably shouldn’t have been.

The Wyrm shook itself off and did the one thing we had prayed it wouldn’t. It started to climb. Great claws scored the rock and it dragged itself onto the ridge.

Some say you feel a moment of serenity when you know you’re going to die. Those people are liars. Fear turned my stomach to water and it was pure luck I didn’t soil myself. The Wyrm pulled itself further along. Jaws snapped, giving me a view of its fangs that would haunt me the rest of my short life. Would it be better to let go and follow Rawl into the abyss, or let myself become dinner for the Wyrm? A question I never thought I’d ask. I looked down. If I fell, death was a certainty. Unless I sprouted wings right this moment, hitting the ground from this height had only one outcome. Staying, however, required a bravery that I wasn’t sure I possessed. Was it bravery, though? Or was I just too cowardly to take control of my death? Almost reluctantly, I found the next foothold. There was still a chance I could make it across alive. A chance that would be built on the deaths of those around me.

“Hey, over here, you dumb beast.” Kernick had regained his feet and stood at the base of the ridge with blood streaking his face. He drew his bow and launched an arrow at the Wyrm’s face as it twisted its neck to see where the noise came from.

A second arrow thudded into its eye socket. Whether a lucky shot or guided by some divine intervention, I didn’t know. The creature howled. With incredible flexibility, it coiled itself around until it was looking back at Kernick. In that moment, I knew what he was going to do. So did Harunath.

“It’s the only way,” the warden said, softly.

“I know.” The words caught in my throat. Kernick loosed his last arrow and it bounced off the Wyrm’s snout.

“Come and get me,” he shouted, before turning on his heels and sprinting away.

The Wyrm scuttled forwards along the ridge and back onto the plateau. Kernick was quick, but no match for the Wyrm. In a handful of strides, the creature caught the Hunter and threw him into the air with a toss of its head.

“Everyone move,” Harunath hissed. “Let’s not treat Kernick’s sacrifice lightly.” I watched for a moment longer as the Wyrm brought its head down and I heard the crunch even above the wind. Then I turned my back and carried on, the cold seizing my hands and my heart in its grip.

The remaining Hunters were waiting for us when I took the last shaking step from rock to ground. My forearms burned with the exertion and my forehead was damp, the sweat already freezing. Harunath leapt off the ridge like a Hunter to land beside me. His face was as stoney as mine felt.

“That did not go as well as I’d hoped.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Orbur said through a grimace. “We only lost one life. That’s a good result for the Knife Edge on any crossing, let alone with a White Wyrm behind us,”

“Two,” I said. “We lost two. Rawl fell while he was crossing.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see that.”

“We can remember the both of them properly when we get inside,” Harunath said. “There’s no point us suffering out here any longer. Plus, we need to get that ankle seen to.” I could have sworn I saw him wipe something away from his eye as he turned towards the Sanctuary.

As we trudged through snow nearly up to our knees, a thought came, unprompted, to mind. Who’d keep us entertained now? We were only a day or two from Brightfont, but there was still plenty of the story left to go and I needed to know what happened. I pressed my hand to my chest and felt the familiar coolness of stone against my skin. The gates were open when we reached them, Modrik and Ileta standing between them, keeping watch.

Modrik grinned when he saw us. “Thank the Ilskini you made it. We could hear the roars, but had no way of telling if you’d managed to get across, or if the Wyrm was heading for us.”

“We made it, most of us anyway.” Harunath’s scowl deepened. The Hunters ignored the welcoming committee and carried Orbur through the gates, leaving Modrik and I with the two wardens.

Ileta placed a hand on his arm. “Who?”

“Kernick and Rawl.”

“Rawl? You must be mistaken,” Ileta said.

I shook my head. “I saw it myself. A falling rock knocked him into the ravine.”

“It can’t have done. He’s sitting over there.” She pointed into the Sanctuary at a young fire just getting going. Sure enough, huddled up in yet more blankets, was Rawl. Or at least someone who looked like him. I ran over to him and grabbed his shoulder.

“Careful, I’m more fragile than I used to be,” he snapped. “Oh, it’s you.”

“I… I saw you fall…”

“Don’t be absurd. If I fell, how could I be here?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.” My mind was turning over faster than an avalanche. I’d watched the rock hit him. Heard him yell and saw him fall. Yet here he was, the same cantankerous old git he’d always been.

“I think we all need to settle down and catch our breath,” he said. “Who’s for a little story?” I stared incredulously as he got up and tottered to the other side of the fire where a bottle of frostberry wine had miraculously appeared, despite our packs still being on the far side of the ravine.

As Rawl sat back down, he caught my eye and winked.

Saphielle

A mosquito landed on Saphielle’s arm and she slapped it, leaving a bloody smear across her pale skin.

“I hate these things, what’s the point of them?”

Yolene scratched at an angry-looking lump on the side of her neck. “Damned if I know. If we fail, then at least all these bugs will die too. Almost seems worth letting the Wyrm win.”

“Almost. How long have we been in here? Feels like forever, and I swear we’ve walked past this tree before.”

“That’s because it looks the same as that one, and that one. Everything in this bloody place looks the same. I thought this was meant to be a main road. We could have spent the last day walking in an enormous circle for all I know. Four Oaks could be just over there.” She waved in an arbitrary direction.

“It’s not been the primary route to Brightfont for years and I guess the swamp has reclaimed its land.”

“Any idea why they stopped using it?”

“There’s the insects that want to eat us alive, for starters, but I heard a story that an entire legion of soldiers marched into the swamp and never came out again. Could just be a tale my nursemaid used to tell to get me to sleep, but there may be a pinch of truth to it. Best to be on the lookout either way.”

“You’re full of stories that really lift the mood, aren’t you Saph? Nothing about a magic portal that’ll take us to the temple?”

“I’m afraid not. It’ll have to be our feet for now, until we—” A high-pitched whine interrupted her as another mosquito flew around her face. She clapped her hands and was rewarded with a splatter of insect matter on her palm. “Gotcha. See how much you like it.”

“There’s another one on your neck,” Yolene pointed out.

Saphielle slapped the itch. “Did I get it?”

“Not this time.”

“Dammit.” She slid her hand inside her shirt and held the arrowhead. “Please, please give me a sign we’re going the right way. I don’t think I can manage much longer in this bloody swamp.”

A stand of reeds rustled up ahead and she was instantly on alert. “Get behind me,” she hissed. Her sword slid from its sheath and she crept along the path, keeping the blade in front of her. The reeds swayed with a light breeze as she approached. With a quick slash, the stalks fell like wheat to a scythe to reveal… nothing but a scum-covered pool. She took a deep breath to calm her heart. All this tension wasn’t good for a person. A shadow moved under the trees on the other side of the stagnant puddle, but it was impossible to tell what it was. The hairs on the back of her neck rose.

“Do you get the feeling we’re being watched?”

“We probably are. There must be thousands of animals in this swamp and most of them likely object to us being here.” Yolene put on a jovial tone, but the uncertainty was hard to hide.

Saphielle pulled back onto the path again and replaced the sword. “Stay alert, anyway. There’s something about this place that makes me uneasy.”

They continued to wind their way between the foul-smelling pools. Saphielle’s eyes darted at every movement, expecting something to emerge from the trees or from the water, or even worse, for Dain Forbes to appear with his greasy hair and damned smirk.

“Do you even know what to do when you reach the temple?” Yolene asked.

“Walk in and take the Bow, I suppose. What more is there to it?”

“The fact that the Lucins may want to keep their most prized possession, for a start. Then there’s the small matter of locating it, taking it and getting out before you’re arrested by the city guards and either hanged for thieving from the Church or sent back to your father in disgrace. I’m not sure which of the two is worse.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” Saphielle replied, a little sharper than necessary.

“I’m only saying, you can’t expect to dance in there and simply take the Bow. This will require planning, and you’re about as good as that as I am at embroidery.” A smile tweaked the corners of Saphielle’s lips. Yolene’s last attempt at the womanly craft — a blue tit, if she recalled correctly — had looked like a child tried describing one to a blind person.

“What if I said you were right? Only hypothetically, of course. What would one of these plans look like?”

“That, I can’t tell you until we get there. I’m sure you learnt military tactics and strategy during your time in the Noonguard. Think of this like a battle. Assess the lay of the land, the strength of the enemy. Identify weaknesses and counteract them with your strengths. Try to—”

“Hush.” Saphielle cupped her ear and pointed it in the direction of a denser copse of trees. “There’s definitely something over there, I’m sure of it.” She crept forward, keeping her weight on the balls of her feet to avoid any noise. She squinted at the trees, two taller ones with moss growing on one side, and two shorter, about her height. Strings of foliage grew between the bare branches of the smaller trees, green against brown. Nothing else moved. “Dammit. I’m sure I heard...”

She didn’t manage to finish the sentence. At the sound of her voice, the shorter trees quivered and rose. A head emerged from the reeds. A stag. The animal shook itself and stood, the tips of its antlers reaching the highest branches of the trees either side. Despite the moss and plants growing between its antlers, the stag’s fur was a sleek chestnut brown, like the sheen of a conker when first cracked open. It sniffed the air in suspicion and stepped forwards, the perfect picture of serenity. Her father may have been a king in name, and by the power he wielded, but this creature was a true monarch. She knew it with as sure as she knew her own name.

“It’s gorgeous,” Yolene whispered, her face appearing over Saphielle’s shoulder.

“Isn’t it,” she breathed. How many people had seen this magnificent animal before? A handful? Maybe none. They could be the first humans to set eyes on the stag. Barok would have loved to be here at this moment. He’d been obsessed with stags since his early years. He’d sketched them and painted them — he was as skilled with a brush as he had been with horse and sword — and even pretended to be one when it had been just the two of them in the castle gardens, using sticks for antlers. Unlike his peers, or their father for that matter. If Haradrok had been here, he’d already be hunting it down with a view to add its head to his collection of macabre trophies. Saphielle and Yolene simply watched it.

A faint noise came through the trees. Saphielle might have dismissed it as a gust of wind or a bird’s cry, but the stag’s head shot up. Its ears twitched and it turned and bolted, its white tail flashing.

“Wait, come back.” She didn’t know why she said it, but she did know she wanted the stag to stay close. Going after it, she pushed through the reeds and a swarm of tiny flies took wing. She breathed in a lungful and almost went down coughing. Her eyes watered, but she kept running. Yolene came crashing behind her. Wind rushed past her face, roaring in her ears.

No, there was a roar alright, but it wasn’t the wind. She came to a sudden stop and Yolene ran into the back of her, almost sending the both of them tumbling into the stagnant water. There was a crash ahead. Once again the sword was in her hand and she dropped into a crouch as she approached the dense wall of reeds. A rapid thudding, then splashes and a rustle, as if whatever it was beyond the reeds was running… at her.

She only had time to tense as a shape burst out of the brown foliage, hit her and tumbled them to the ground, her sword falling from her fingers and bouncing away.

“Ouch,” said the shape, pushing itself up using her shoulder as a brace. Saphielle blinked. The shape above her was human framed by green-gilded branches. “We really don’t want to be here.”

“What?” Her brain still hadn’t worked through the sight before her.

“Get off her,” shouted Yolene.

“Too late.” The person on top of her pushed himself off and left her in the dirt. An enormous shape crashed through the trees. It resolved itself into a bear, at least twelve feet tall and covered in shaggy fur. She scrambled to her feet and ran after the stranger, already disappearing past Yolene.

Yolene took the cue and turned on her heels. A twig whipped across Saphielle’s face as she ran between the trees. Brambles snatched at her legs and she felt her skin rip as the thorns dug in. She gained on the figure in front, her long legs covering the ground in long, loping strides. Baku had once said she ran like a fox. At the time, she’d been vaguely annoyed being compared to something quite so mundane. Yolene kept pace effortlessly. If Saphielle was a fox, her friend was a horse. She made running look the easiest thing in the world, and Saphielle hated her a little bit for it.

Behind them, the bear smashed through the undergrowth. Every now and then came a crack as the creature snapped a tree in half and ran over it. Saphielle managed a glance back. The bear was falling behind. Its sheer size, though intimidating, worked against it in the confines of the trees. Though it broke some, others were too thick and it had to squeeze through gaps or find another way around.

The man they chased was short and scrawny. A satchel slung over his shoulder jumped and flapped with each stride, hitting the back of his thighs. If he wasn’t careful, he’d get that thing caught on—

A branch hooked through the strap and the man was jerked off his feet as the strap went tight. He hit the ground with a thud and a small splash. The bag fell open, spilling items across the damp earth. He hurried to his knees and started shoving his belongings back in, eyes wide with fear.

Saphielle gasped. He wasn’t a man at all, practically a child and certainly several years younger than her. What was he doing on his own, in the Blackmire of all places? She reached him as he stuffed the last thing into the satchel, a large vial with dark liquid inside.

“Up you get,” she said, grabbing him under one arm as Yolene got the other. “This is no time for a rest.” They had got the boy onto his feet when there was a roar so loud she felt the wind of it on her face. With the sound of ripping wood, the bear tore through two young trees. It reared up and roared again. Saphielle drew her sword, but it was as useless as a sewing needle.

If there was a time to prove Simetra was watching, this was it. Something large flashed past her and careened into the bear’s chest.

Haradrok

King Haradrok’s eyes flicked around the circle, resting on the gaps that had appeared over the last few weeks. At the start of this bloody war, there had been a full complement of the blind priests in place around the room. Now half of them lay in the dirt and the war still raged on. The Firthenites just didn’t know when to quit. He’d pounded their country with strikes, each one at the expense of a body around the circle. The mines, then their main port, any major city he could get a conduit from. And that hadn’t been easy either. Of the collection parties he sent out, only a handful returned. Dain Baku still had half a dozen groups of Noonguard inside Firthen, but his targets were further and further into the country and they were still at least a week away from returning. If they returned at all. He was starting to think Queen Palona knew what was happening and was making more of an effort to stop the Noonguard infiltrating her country.

The worst thing was, the strikes didn’t appear to have an effect. The Firthenite armies still marched across Alliquis, his Alliquis. His own armies were constantly chasing them, never in place fast enough to engage them on terrain of their choosing. More than once, Haradrok had considered how to strike inside his own borders. The only thing stopping him was that the Firthenite forces never stayed in one place long enough to hit them. Though that could soon change.

The Archlucin stood in her usual place at the top of the circle. They’d given up talking to each other. The last few times had ended in arguments that could have been heard outside the city walls. But talking terms or not, was the ritual going to work with so few? He ignored the spaces and focused on the five Lucins who still stood. Each of them lost in their own silent prayers. Haradrok’s eyes drifted upwards. They needed the clouds to disperse before the next strike, but they’d been in place for over a day, and so had the Lucins.

“Can’t you have a word with your Goddess and get her to shift these fucking clouds?” he snapped.

“Lady Simetra will not be swayed by such mundane requests,” Archlucin Baylor replied softly. “This is but a test of our faith, one that I am sure you can pass, your highness.”

The urge to run something sharp through the priestess was strong. “I’m sure.” He stared at the ceiling of grey as if by force of will alone he could disperse them. If they didn’t move soon, they’d lose the day and would have to wait until sunrise again. He growled and stalked over to the statue, taking a seat on the plinth at its base. The people, too, would be growing restless. Barring access to the temple was not a popular move, especially in times like these. He closed his eyes and leant against the stone. One of the rare times he was thankful the Lucins were sightless.

His eyes flicked open. By the Ilskini, how long had he been asleep? The Lucins were all still in place, though Baylor had a knowing smirk smeared across her face, illuminated by the fires throughout the sept. Stars winked above them and he swore. They’d missed their opportunity today.

“That’s enough,” he barked. The closest Lucin flinched as his harsh voice bounced off the stone. Come dawn he’d have them back here, but there was no point forcing them to wait through the night. “Get some sleep and be back here no later than first light. As soon as I see the sun, we’re completing this fucking ritual, understood?”

“Perfectly, your Highness.” Archlucin gave one of her perfunctory bows which only served to piss him off further. She may have been the head of the Church, but he was the bloody king and deserved to be shown the appropriate levels of respect. The Lucins dispersed, shaking loose muscles which had seized over the hours of standing on the same spot.

Someone hammered on the great door at the far end of the nave and before Haradrok could tell them in no uncertain tones to fuck off, the door creaked open, the sound a rent in the comparative stillness of the sept. A slender teenage girl with blonde hair ran in.

For a moment, he thought it was his daughter. The Goddess only knew where she was. All he’d done was try and keep her out of the war, yet she’d thrown every bit of protection he’d provided back at him. The fact Dain Forbes hadn’t yet returned with her concerned him though. If she’d done what he asked her to in the first place, and stayed here while Barok went on patrol, then his son might still be alive as well.

There was a pain in his hands and he glanced down to see his fists tightly clenched. He unfurled his fingers, leaving crescent-shaped marks where his nails had dug into his palms.

“King Haradrok, your majesty, I have dire news.”

He refocused on the girl in front of him. Not Saphielle. She was shorter, ruddier in the face and garbed in the livery of the messenger corp.

“Spit it out.”

“You’d be better off seeing it for yourself, sire.” She refused to meet his eye as she gave an awkward bow. At least there was someone in the country who attempted the due deference he demanded.

“See what? Speak plainly, girl, I don’t have time for pleasantries and double meanings.”

The girl pointed back the way she’d come. “Outside. In the sky.” Her face was a mask of genuine fear, but not of him. Not this time. Haradrok brushed past the messenger and strode down the centre of the sept, his boots rapping on the stone floor. The door was still open and he slipped between them into the cool night air.

The bloody clouds had gone, leaving a perfectly clear sky behind. He felt the messenger appear beside him and she pointed to Galvorix, the brightest star in the sky.

“There.”

“What do you mean? It’s just the—” Across the sky, the true star twinkled next to the waning crescent of the moon which hung above the city’s rooftops. A cold fist of understanding grabbed him by the heart.

“What’s going on?” Baylor asked, slightly out of breath.

“They’ve found a way to retaliate.” The light he’d assumed to be the star grew brighter and closer. Whereas Simetra’s Final Arrow was bright and angry and fierce, this light captured the stark coldness of moonlight, shot through with blues and pinks. Despite her lack of vision, the Archlucin seemed to know what he meant without further explanation.

“But that cannot be,” she whispered. “There are no records of Amul having such power. It’s impossible.”

“It looks bloody possible to me.” The light was growing at a frightening rate, searing across the sky towards Lendas. He grabbed the messenger’s shoulder and spun her around. “You, round up the Quarter Council and get them to meet me atop the Crownhall. Do not mention this to anyone else or I’ll have your tongue cut out and fed back to you, understand?”

The girl nodded and a small whimper escaped her lips before she shakily saluted and ran off.

“Tell me, what’s it like?” Archlucin Baylor asked once the girl had left. There was a note of longing in her voice he’d never heard from her before, usually so stubborn and set.

“Honestly? It’s beautiful in the way a Cloudcat is beautiful, or the ocean in a storm. There’s a danger to it too, and I don’t think that’s only because I know what it is.”

Baylor nodded slowly. “Thank you. My oath was not taken lightly, but it might have been worth breaking it to see this. Alas, these eyes truly see nothing.”

“I must go, the Quarter Council must be briefed before too much panic sets in. You’re welcome to join me, if you feel up to the climb.”

“Some might be in need of holy reassurance. I will come.”

Haradrok led the way, the Archlucin a few steps behind. Her directional ability was uncanny. He’d always been told that the loss of one sense heightened the others, but this went beyond simple compensation. Maybe Simetra really did bless her acolytes with boons in response to their sacrifice. Along the way, a handful of people had already noticed the light and peered out of windows or stood in their doorways staring up. They bowed hurriedly as they noticed their king walking by, and he acknowledged them with a small wave.

After a short while, they reached the Crownhall and entered into its dark interior. At this hour, most of the lanterns and torches had died out and wouldn’t be replaced until the morning when the small army of servants that kept the Crownhall functioning would swap them out. They climbed through the Crownhall, passing the levels where Haradrok had his quarters. Two lavish floors closed off to anyone bar himself and his family. Not that there were any of them left, he thought bitterly. At the top of the final staircase, a narrow door opened onto the battlement.

The light was closer, banishing any lingering hopes that it might be targeted elsewhere. It obliterated the stars around it with its brightness and had grown a length, so it appeared as a dash of pulsating light rather than a dot.

He ran through the list of Dains he expected to be summoned, then narrowed it to those who absolutely could not make it. Dain Baku was at the head of the forces marching on Simetra’s Temple and Dain Forbes should be on the tail of Saphielle. No one else had an excuse, not even Dain Heleste, who’d returned from Firthen missing an ear.

As it transpired, she was the first to appear, swaddled in a thick coat and wearing a headscarf that covered her remaining ear and the hole where the missing one used to be. The lines on her face had deepened from her ordeal, made worse by the dark shadows cast in the crevices.

“This had better be important, dragging me out of bed at Simetra knows what time of the night.”

“Believe me, Heleste, I have no desire to see you before you’ve had your beauty sleep, but needs must.” He pointed to the light.

Heleste gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. “What is that?”

“Trouble. I’ll wait for the rest to arrive before I go into any more detail.”

Dain Lusan was the last to arrive, almost half an hour later. He looked ready to collapse when eventually he climbed onto the battlements. Haradrok surveyed the fifteen Dains arrayed around him. Three missing. He’d deal with them later. Clearing his throat, he got their attention.

“It’s obvious why I’ve had to gather you all up here at such short notice. That” — he gestured again to the silver light — “has been launched by the enemy in a direct attack upon this city. I don’t know where it will land or what will be hit. For all I know, this very edifice could be the target, and if that is the case, we’ll have nothing else to worry about. If it lands elsewhere, there will be panic. I’m sure I don’t have to stress how important it is that we restore calm as quickly as possible. Right now, I have dispatched units to strategic points of the city, ready to attend the target site. We can use this to our advantage. A flag to rally around. Once the sun rises, we can retaliate with another strike of our own.”

There was plenty more he could have said, about courage and strength and what not, but it sounded hollow in his skull, so he left it unsaid. Where it hit was down to fate, and until it made the ground, there was nothing else to be done.

He barely listened to the barrage of questions fired at him, answering them with single syllable replies and no doubt infuriating the Dains rather than reassuring them, but he wasn’t their mother and if they wanted comfort they’d have to turn to someone other than him. After a while, he ignored them completely, turning his back and standing right at the edge of the parapet. Once he’d have been wary of someone pushing him off, but that fear had diminished as he’d settled into the mantle of king. If anyone managed to assassinate him, they were welcome to the throne.

The light became brighter and brighter, eclipsing the light from the thin moon until it rivalled the sun. The thread became a beam as long and raging as the power he’d commanded from the sept. Would it be the worst thing if it did hit the Crownhall? At least he’d be reunited with Chloelle and Barok.

He shielded his eyes and pretended that the water leaking from them was down to the brightness. The noise of the thing drowned out the nervous chatter of the Dains.

Nearer and nearer. Was this how the Firthenites felt when Simetra’s Final Arrow was streaking towards them, or did they not understand what they were seeing? Maybe it would be better if he was out here marvelling at the spectacle, blissfully unaware of what it truly was, like many of Lendas’ citizens, no doubt.

The light burned overhead, passing above the Crownhall. For once, every Dain was silent, in awe of the Firthenite magic. As terrible as it was, it was also beautiful.

“Where’s it going to hit?” one of the younger Dains asked.

“If I knew that, I would be staying well away from it. Assuming their ritual works the same, they would have needed a terrestrial conduit to target the strike. I’ve no doubt they had spies within the city, so they could have taken a sample from anywhere. We’ll only know once it makes land.”

They followed its path lower and lower, past the White Spire, over the Garden of Unity, until it appeared to be skimming the chimney stacks of the mansions that populated the more affluent part of the city. Several of the Dains had their residences in that area and they bit lips or clenched fists until the light had passed over.

“Tell me its course,” Archlucin Baylor said suddenly. She’d been silent throughout and her voice startled him. He sketched the direction in brief verbal strokes and the Archlucin’s face fell.

“They’re targeting the sept.”

The truth struck him like a charging stallion. Of course they were. A many-layered strategy so obvious, he was disgusted with himself for not having seen it earlier. The desecration of village temples during their raids. The army right now marching towards Simetra’s Temple, the single holiest place in Alliquis. Now this. A blow at the very heart of Lendas would damage morale as much as the physical damage, and it would hamper, if not remove entirely, their ability to loose any more of their own attacks.

The light hit the front of the sept with an impact that shook the battlements. For a moment, it appeared to be absorbed into the ground, then it was expelled outwards in a pulsating, glowing shockwave that ripped tiles from roofs and smashed every window in the east side of the Crownhall.

A pillar of silver light shot up like a beacon, illuminating half the city with a day-bright glow. If the citizens didn’t know what was happening before, they certainly did now. The first screams rose, shrill and full of pain. A cloud of dust followed the wave. It billowed into the sky and obscured their view of the ground.

“What have they done?” Dain Lusan breathed.

“They’ve done what we did to them, and better. I would not be surprised to see more and more of these over the coming days.”

“But how?” Baylor said. “How have they trained enough Noxa in such a short time?”

“We don’t know how long they’ve been preparing for this, keeping it hidden from our intelligence network, and that is a failure I won’t hesitate to punish. As for those within our walls who wish us harm, we won’t stop until we’ve rooted out every last one. To that end, I’ll be initiating a lockdown on the entire city. No one in or out until I say so.” He dismissed them with a curt wave and waited until they’d gone, taking their shocked whispering and statements of bravado with them. Only the Archlucin remained.

“Not leaving?” he asked.

“Where would I go? My Sept has been likely destroyed, and even if it hasn’t completely, I will get no rest there.”

“Walk with me, then, and we’ll see what the damage is. Well, I’ll see and describe it for you, but it’s almost the same thing. Suffice to say, this is just the beginning of Amul’s revenge.”

“Amul’s Revenge, eh? I think I’ll call it that when I document what’s happened tonight. Come, I wish to sift through the rubble of my temple and the night is passing apace.”

Haradrok led the way back down into the Crownhall, avoiding the shards of glass that littered the stairs.

Saphielle

The stag’s antlers drove into the bear’s side, tearing a bloody gash along its ribs. Blood welled red in the wound, becoming a murky brown against the creature’s green and grey fur. Its roar was cut short, turned into a strangled yelp. The stag pawed the ground. As it did, it flicked its head back and forth, as if reminding the bear what weapons it was up against.

Saphielle stared, transfixed by the fight between the two enormous beasts.

“I think we should be going,” Yolene said, tugging on her sleeve.

“Right,” she replied. It was a bad choice, but she desperately wanted to wait for the outcome. Something told her this was special, not an occurrence that happened every day, and she wanted to know how it ended.

She looked down at the boy. A couple of heads shorter than her, his black hair stubbornly stuck out at all angles. He had a round face which was starting to lose the padding of youth. Scrawny, as she’d noticed earlier, but the frame of the man he would become was starting to reveal itself. He looked back at her with soulful brown eyes.

Having rescued him once, it would be foolish to remain and have to do it all over again.

“Which way?” she asked. The direction they’d come from was blocked by the animals. The bear had shaken off its wound and swiped a massive paw, the size of a shield, at the stag’s head.

“Let’s loop round and leave these two at it.” Yolene took three steps, enough to steal the bear’s attention from its current adversary. It moved to intercept them, but the stag ducked its head and lowered its spear-like antlers, forming a barrier.

The two creatures reminded Saphielle of the tournaments her father used to throw. One such contest had seen an eighteen-year-old Barok reach the final of the unmounted foot and come up against Dain Baku’s champion Noonguard, a man with ten years and four stone of muscle on her brother. They’d eyed each other up across the duelling circle in the same way the bear and stag did now. Small steps left and right, forwards and backwards, changing position, anything to find a weakness in their opponent’s guard. Then there would be a short, sharp coming together and either blood would spill or it wouldn’t, and the two would do the same all over again.

The bear lunged, batting aside the stag’s antlers and going for the throat with its iron jaw. The stag pushed back, the tip of one antler ripping a hole in the bear’s shoulder, and held it off. For now.

On that long-past day, Barok had drawn first blood. Nipping in under the Noonguard’s defence and catching him a glancing blow to his bicep. Her father had applauded and cheered like a commoner and Saphielle recalled feeling embarrassed for him. Now, when she looked back, she realised it was the happiest she’d ever seen him. She shook the thoughts from her head. Memory was a luxury she couldn’t afford right then.

“Not sure it wants us going that way,” she said. “We just need to get away from here. We can reorient ourselves once we’re safe. Can you run?” This last question she directed to the boy.

He nodded, mouth tightly shut. Saphielle took his arm. “Ready? We go on my command. Oh, and sort that strap out, we don’t want it snagging again.” The boy tightened the strap across his back, his fingers running over the buckles to check it was securely shut. Who carried a bag full of ink into the middle of a swamp? A question to be answered once they’d reached safety.

“Three, two, one.” On one she broke into a sprint away from the fighting animals, dragging the boy behind her. Yolene kept up, as she always did. The bear bellowed its anger at an easy dinner getting away and the stag grunted a deep, guttural reply.

Saphielle wanted to look back, but she also remembered how Barok’s duel had gone. Despite Barok’s bright start, the Noonguard’s strength started to show. With each crushing blow, his own strength had dimmed until it was all he could do just to get his sword in the way. The end had been swift after that. Hopefully, the stag would fare better.

She hurdled over a long-fallen tree, kicking off a chunk of orange fungus as she leapt. Behind them, the sounds of the fight faded. If she’d had her way, they’d have kept going until her lungs burned and her legs were on the verge of giving out, but she was trained as a Noonguard and the boy’s breathing was already ragged. Splashing through a shallow puddle, she pulled up and leant against a tree. The boy dropped to his knees and coughed.

“Are you alright? Are you ill?” Saphielle asked.

“Swallowed a fly,” he croaked between rasping coughs.

Yolene’s knife was at the boy’s throat in a blink. “Who are you, and why are you here?”

He squeaked at the press of steel. “I’m on a pilgrimage to Simetra’s Temple, but I lost my way in the swamp. Thank the Goddess you found me when you did, or that bear would have had me for dinner.”

“That answers one question, but not the other.”

“Come on, Yol. Aren’t you being a bit harsh on the lad? He’s only just survived that thing trying to kill him, and now you’re at it too.”

The knife didn’t move from the boy’s jugular. “I don’t trust him. What’s he doing here?”

“He’s answered that. I don’t blame him for trying to get to the temple, after all, isn’t that what we’re doing?” She put heavy emphasis on the question. “In times like these it’s natural to turn to the Ilskini for support.”

“He could be from Firthen!”

“A skinny thing like him? He doesn’t look older than sixteen. If he’s a Firthenite spy, then they’ve scrapped right the way through the bottom of the barrel.”

“I’m fifteen,” the boy croaked.

“See.

Yolene’s hand wavered, then she returned the blade to her belt. “On your head be it. Doesn’t explain what he has in his bag though.” She turned away with a sneer.

The boy rubbed his neck where the pressure of the blade had left a small cut. “Thank you, for everything. My name’s Isak, if that helps at all.”

“I’m Saphielle, and the grumpy one is Yolene. Don’t mind her. She doesn’t trust people easily. A trait many people find abrasive, but it’s saved our lives on more than one occasion. How did you come to be out here on your own?”

Isak looked away and sniffed. “It’s a long story, and not one I want to relive if at all possible. In short, there’s no one left. I’ve been on my own since this damn war started.” A strangled sob escaped Isak’s lips and he hugged his arms around himself.

Saphielle immediately felt a rush of pity for him. “I lost my brother recently, so I understand some of your pain.“ The bushes rustled behind her and she spun, groping for her sword.

Yolene emerged, still frowning. Saphielle hadn’t even noticed she’d been gone.

“There’s a path over here that I think goes the right way, though we’ve been twisted around enough in this swamp that I can’t tell for certain.”

Saphielle straightened her shirt, rolling the sleeves back down to cover her exposed arms. “Right, let’s get moving before that bear tracks us down again.” She held a hand out to Isak and the lad pulled himself up. “Welcome to the team.”

Ashuto

The lies had come surprisingly easy. Who was Isak? The name had popped into his head the moment Saphielle had asked. A solid Alliquean name, he must have picked it up subconsciously on his travels. He’d have to watch the other one though, Yolee. She didn’t trust him and made that obviously clear, but that was okay. As long she didn’t interfere, she could be as suspicious as she liked. Saphielle was different, both in looks – her pale skin and blonde hair a far shout from Yolene’s dark features – and in personality. Her willingness to believe him seemed naive. Even he knew that the word of a stranger should be taken with a spoon of salt.

The satchel’s strap kept pulling on his skin, aggravating the nick he’d received from Yolene. He dabbed it with his fingers and the tips came away bloody. Back home, whenever he got a scratch or a paper cut, he’d washed it with the boiled water Wilden demanded be kept topped up. It allegedly helped produce better results with inks, but it also cleaned a wound without risk of festering. Before all that, his mother used to make a poultice with garlic. It stank but he never had any problems. That was impossible here. The water was stagnant and he had no idea where he’d find garlic. All it meant was that he’d need to keep an eye on the cut. How pathetic would it be if the Great Wyrm’s champion died from a tainted scratch?

They made it to nightfall without any further incident. Whether the stag had managed to kill the bear, or whether the beast had lost their scent or the inclination to hunt them down, they’d seen neither claw nor fang of anything larger than a rat.

“Here’s as good a place as any to hole up for the night.” Saphielle dropped her own bag by her feet and gestured to a small mound. At some point, there had been water where they stood but it was long gone, leaving behind a shallow bowl. The trees had sent roots into the ground which had slowly been exposed, resulting in a recess in the dirt, a foot or two deep, protected by the thick roots.

“With three of us, we’ll be able to do a watch rotation,” she continued. “Yol, are you happy to do the first watch, and I’ll take the night shift?”

“I suppose.” Yolene’s lips formed a tight line.

“Good. That leaves you with the early watch, Isak. I’ll wake you up when my turn is finished and all you need to do is stay awake until dawn, making sure you keep your eyes peeled for danger. Sound easy?”

“I think I can manage that.” He couldn’t tell her that he’d seen watch rotations play out dozens of times in the last month. This would be the first time he was actually involved with one though. He’d learned a thing or two from that exchange, however. Saphielle was almost certainly military, or trained by them at least. The way she slipped into command was natural, as if she’d done it dozens of times before. She didn’t have the same rod up her arse like many of the other officers he’d met, though. A born leader then? Yolene, on the other hand, didn’t take well to Saphielle’s authority. Or maybe his arrival had upset the balance between the two of them.

He placed his satchel carefully on the edge of the bank and started to gather firewood.

“What are you doing?” Yolene asked brusquely.

“Collecting fuel?”

“Well don’t. A fire will give away our location to anything or anyone on the hunt for us.”

Now that was interesting. The way Yolene had said that gave him the impression it wasn’t solely a turn of phrase. Were they on the run, and if so, what for? Who from?

“I think we can afford a fire. If the bear is still after us, it’ll smell us long before it sees the flames. Go on, Isak, get some of that burning. It’ll be good to have a bit of warmth tonight. I’m still damp.” She smiled warmly.

Yolene didn’t. “Can I have a word with you, please, away from the stray?”

Saphielle smiled at him again, shrugged and let Yolene guide her a short distance away. He tried to listen in while gathering more firewood but their words were low and all he caught was snippets. Even so, he edged as close as he dared without attracting Yolene’s ire.

“How do you know we can trust him?” she asked, as he flipped a branch over to reveal a dozen woodlice beneath. Saphielle’s reply was lost behind her hand. She was getting agitated, they both were. Hands making more prominent gestures with each exchange.

“How would you like it?” Saphielle blurted out, before glancing over at him. He quickly turned away and tried to look as if he was more interested in a patch of dried reeds than their conversation. It wouldn’t be an unmitigated disaster if Yolene won the argument and jettisoned him. He was alive – albeit thanks to them – and he now knew which direction he was supposed to be going. The journey through the remainder of the swamp would hopefully be uneventful and that would be that, Brightfont in no time. The danger came if Yolene’s distrust extended far enough to do him in and leave his corpse for the bear. He made sure the scale was in easy reach just in case.

“You’re not his mother…” Yolene smacked her fist into her palm.

“And you’re not mine!” Saphielle replied, just as loudly. She shoved Yolene away and stalked back to the pile of wood. As she passed him, her elbow caught the end of one of the sticks Ashuto had in the crux of his arms and they fell to the ground with a clatter. Yolene glared at him while he picked them up again. He offered her a weak smile and got a snarl in response. She turned and marched away.

“I’m sorry to cause such an argument,” he said, dropping the firewood onto the pile.

“It’s not your fault. Yolene is suspicious, if you hadn’t already guessed, but she only does it to keep us safe. There can be some unsavoury sorts on these roads, even more so now the war has displaced so many people. Don’t worry, she’ll come round eventually. It’s important to stick together in times like these.”

“Thanks, I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

“Your accent isn’t from around here, is it?” A cold dread iced his veins. How could he have forgotten to disguise his voice? Stupid boy. Saphielle was oblivious to the scolding he was giving himself and continued. “Sounds like a Tytheland accent, right?”

He nodded.

“I’ve been there a couple of times. It was beautiful, though the raids didn’t make it a safe place to go. I hope you can get your home back when all this is over.” Her eyes drifted past him into the middle distance as she spoke.

He knew she was only trying to be friendly, but it was a bitter sentence. Get his home back? There was no chance of that, all because of her country. She was right about one thing, though, it was good to have a little warmth.

They made small talk for a while longer until Yolene came back into the firelight. She tossed down the feathered carcass of a goose, its grey-blue plumage dulled by death.

“Dinner,” she grunted.

“Thanks, Yol.” There was an expectant silence that stretched on several heartbeats too long before Saphielle broke it. “I was harsh on you earlier, and for that I apologise. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Me too.” From the way Saphielle beamed, Ashuto guessed that was as much of an apology as Yolene was willing to give. She sat on the opposite side of the fire and fixed him with a stare. Clearly the thawing of relations didn’t extend to him.

Yolene soon had the feathers off the bird and spitted it over the flames. A little while after that, Ashuto had hot food in his belly for the first time in a long while.

He wiped grease from his chin. “I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything that good.”

“You’ve not had anything better than swamp goose?” Saphielle asked with a light laugh. “Where have you been living, under a rock?”

“Swamp goose is good enough for me,” Yolene chipped in. “Where I grew up, it was hard to come by decent food.”

“What do you mean? You grew up… right, I’ve got you. I was lucky, my mother was a fabulous cook.” She coughed and poked the embers at the edge of the fire with a charred stick. “Well then, I’m going to get some sleep before my watch. You’d better turn in too, Isak, best to get as much shuteye as you can on a shift like this. Night everyone.” She lay down directly on the floor and pulled her cloak over her. Within moments, she was snoring gently. He’d only seen soldiers with that ability and it only leant weight to his theory that Saphielle was more than she seemed.

The scale pulsed coolly in his pocket as it always did. Would it be a waste to use it on only two people? It wouldn’t if either of them turned out to be the champion, but if he was wrong, it was still several days until the new moon, and he hoped to be at Simetra’s Temple before then. The Great Wyrm wouldn’t appreciate his failure. He’d sleep on it and make a decision in the morning as his father used to tell him.

“Umm, night?” he said. Yolene growled and plucked one of the knives from her belt. She wouldn’t, would she? Then she dug some gristle from between her teeth with the tip and returned the blade to its sheath. He scooched closer to the fire and wrapped himself in his battered cloak. With his eyes closed, the noises of the swamp were amplified. He sighed. It would take him ages to fall…

The dream took hold of him with such force, he was surprised it didn’t catapult him back into wakefulness. An enormous building formed of fluted columns and ornate arches rose above him, stretching so high that its dome brushed the clouds. He looked behind him and saw the familiar shadows that marked the boundaries of his dream.

“Simetra’s champion is near.” The Great Wyrm’s rumbling voice sounded close by. He took the first few steps leading up to a grand door emblazoned with sunbursts, hoping the champion would reveal themselves, but he was the only soul on those steps. The door yielded easily to his touch, swung open silently and the shadows within retreated to reveal a cavernous space. Lines of light flowed across the ceiling, as if rays of sunlight had been captured and distilled into a liquid then poured out. He stood there, transfixed by their beauty, until he heard footsteps echoing off the distant walls. Was this it, the champion revealed at last?

He crept towards the oncoming sound, trying to muffle his own footfalls. As he passed one of the fluted columns, the veins of light dropped like a net and formed a dome around him. He pushed against it, but it was as strong as a steel cage. All he could do was hide behind the column which rose through the centre of the net and hope Simetra’s champion didn’t see him, if they could see him at all within this realm of dreams. The stone pillar should have been cool, but instead it radiated a low heat that seeped into his back.

“Don’t let her tempt you,” the Wyrm growled. “Simetra has power here, resist it.” A chill emanated from the centre of Ashuto’s chest and pushed back against the warmth. All the while, Simetra’s champion drew nearer. He peered around the pillar. A figure emerged from the shadows. Their features were hidden in the same way the silhouettes on the bridge had been, but around their neck hung an arrowhead which glowed with a soft orange light. The scale in his pocket thrummed with energy in response to Simetra’s token. Simetra’s champion returned the sword they were carrying to a sheath and brushed something off their shoulder. Despite the shadows obscuring the champion’s face, there was still plenty of detail Ashuto could memorise. They were tall and thin. Their body shape was masculine, though their hair hung down to their shoulders. Most important of all, they wore the token around their neck.

“We cannot stay any longer,” the Great Wyrm said in his mind. “Simetra knows we are here, the dome you are in prevents you seeing anything further, or delving too deeply into her sanctum. You will find her champion at the temple, that truth is now clear to me. Locate and identify them then remove them from my way. Do this and your rewards will be uncountable.”

The temple began to crumble, chunks of stone larger than a man tumbled from the ceiling, crashing to the floor in plumes of dust. The pillar cracked and one half fell away. The dome of light flickered, faltered then disappeared altogether. In that moment, Ashuto caught a glimpse of a sallow face and lank black hair before the shadows closed in on him and his vision became darkness.

Saphielle leant over him, shaking his shoulder.

“Isak, wake up, it’s time for your watch.” He groaned and forced his eyes fully open. The light was grey, as it was in the hours before dawn when he used to sneak out to climb the crag and watch the sunrise.

“You must have been exhausted, I’ve been trying to wake you for a few minutes. I might have thought you’d died, if I hadn’t seen your eyes moving under your eyelids. Good dream?”

“I can’t remember it.” Most of the details had vanished as if he was trying to cup water in his hands. Maybe being woken like that had broken some thread of memory, or perhaps Simetra had the power to interfere. Either way, the particulars were hazy, but he remembered two things clearly enough. Simetra’s champion would be at the temple, and they wore an arrowhead around their neck.

“No matter,” Saphielle said. “You’ve not got long to wait before dawn, I did an extra hour before rousing you. Keep warm by the fire and watch out for anything approaching. If you see anything at all, people, large animals, anything, wake me up immediately. Here, take this.” She took a dagger and passed it to him, hilt first. A good ten inches long with a hilt of brass and leather. “See the pointy end? Keep that away from you and you’ll do just fine.” With that, she found the same patch of ground she’d slept on earlier, pulled her cloak over her and was back asleep within moments.

He lay the knife beside him and crouched by the remains of the fire, rubbing his hands together and holding them over the white ash. It still radiated heat even though the flames and embers had long since died. The air had an unexpected chill for the time of year. A dampness from the pools of water around them pervaded everything. His clothes were clammy and his skin felt grimy. What he’d do for a good wash in running water.

Once his fingers had warmed back up, he took the scale from his pocket and turned it over and over. How had he, a mapmaker’s apprentice from an insignificant little town, been chosen to represent the power of the Great Wyrm? What made him special? Did anything, or was he simply the right person at the right time? His gut had been right about one thing. Find the temple, find the champion. His thoughts about Saphielle and Yolene had been a little off the mark though, and he found himself thanking Amul that they were. He didn’t want to hurt Saphielle and Yolene would be a formidable opponent if he had to take her on. It also meant he had the final use remaining. When they reached the temple, he’d thank the pair and take his leave, then find a good spot to use it. The one thing the dream hadn’t shown him was when the champion would be there. That’s what the scale would help with.

Yolene murmured and rolled over onto her back. Ashuto took the opportunity to observe her without being scowled at. Yolene and Saphielle must have been of a similar age, though the darker woman acted decades older. How would he have done it, if Yolene had been the champion? A knife in the night like this? He held the knife up and closed one eye, superimposing the image of the blade across Yolene’s neck. How did it feel to end a life like that?

Eventually, the grey light grew brighter under the canopy and the first rays of morning poked beneath the leaves. Saphielle hadn’t told him what to do when morning came. Was he meant to wake them up? He could imagine Yolene taking offence at that, but he could also imagine the same result if he let them sleep too long. It didn’t take much to get on her bad side. He knelt beside Saphielle and was about to shake her shoulder when Yolene spoke.

“I see we’ve made it through the night without being murdered in our sleep and you’ve not scarpered with all our possessions. I’ll give you that much, Isak. Have you made breakfast yet? Last watch always has breakfast ready.”

“What… breakfast? I didn’t realise…” Panic rose in his chest. He’d never seen that happen with the Outriders. What if it was a Alliquean custom and his failure to do it marked him out as an outsider?

“She’s having you on,” Saphielle said with a yawn, rolling over and stretching. A sliver of pale, smooth skin was revealed as her shirt rode up. Ashuto coughed and looked away, a flush blooming on his cheeks.

Yolene grinned wickedly. “Would be nice to have breakfast waiting when we wake up, though.”

“We should eat before we leave. Any more of that goose left?”

Yolene divvied out the last of the meat and Ashuto chewed it slowly.

“How far have we got to go?” he asked, swallowing the final mouthful.

“Not sure, to be honest with you. I’d like to say we’ll be there by tomorrow evening, but I can’t make that promise. Still, quicker than if we’d taken the long way round.” The two women shared another of their looks. There was definitely something going unsaid that he wasn’t privy to. As long as it didn’t involve him.

Once they’d finished eating, Yolene spread the ashes with her boot. He checked the clasp on his satchel and swung it over his shoulder.

“What’ve you got in there?” Saphielle asked.

“Nothing important. Just a few memories from home.”

“You should show us when we reach the temple. I’d love to learn more about where you came from. I grew up in Lendas and I bet it’s all very different from your home.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Yolene said. “Then we might get some answers about who you really are.”

It was a stony trek to the edge of the swamp, mostly walking in silence with Yolene fixing him with suspicious glares every few minutes. They reached it by mid-afternoon and left the tree cover to find a stretch of water, and on the other side, a grassy meadow.

“This is it, Simetra’s Plain, and look, is that the road?” Saphielle pointed to a raised walkway cutting through the water no more than forty yards away.

“Has that been there the whole time?” Yolene muttered. “The number of branches I’ve had to climb over on our animal track, and the road was this close?”

“Looks like it, but it doesn’t matter. We’re here now.

They fought their way through the reeds and back onto the path, before taking their first steps onto the plain.

Saphielle

Saphielle was becoming used to the boy’s company. After three days, it felt like he was bedding into their little group. Almost all of her experience with boys of his age had been with her brother. Where Barok had been adventurous, brave and outgoing, Isak was quiet and thoughtful. Clever too, but reserved with it, and in a way that made it hard to know him on a deeper level. Questions about his family and home were rebuffed or deflected. It drove Yolene mad and made her think the boy was hiding important information, but what could a lad of his age really be concealing? And if he was a spy or some such, what had he been doing in that damned swamp? No, it was far more likely that he simply didn’t want to talk about it, whether those memories were upsetting or painful or anything else, and it was far from her right to force him to recount them.

That aside, he’d shown a quick wit and a kind heart, and those qualities were always endearing to her. In all, she’d be sad to see him go when they reached Simetra’s Temple. The first signs of it had grown on the horizon almost an hour ago. A white smudge that at first glance could be dismissed as low cloud. It had been several hours since then, and soon they’d arrive and Isak would leave. A sadness draped itself across her shoulders. For those few short days, it had been a bit like having a brother again, albeit a younger one this time. She sighed and pulled her pack higher.

“Another two hours and we’ll be there, I think.”

“Two hours too long. This sun is relentless,” Yolene replied.

“It’s alright for you. How do you think my chalk-white skin is faring? I’m going to be red as a radish if it keeps up.”

“If it was raining, you’d complain about that, too,” Isak quipped.

“Indeed, I probably would.” The sun had followed them since leaving the swamp, soaring across the sky and reappearing the next morning with scarcely a cloud to impede its progress. It didn’t give the impression that the Great Wyrm was attempting to usher in an era of snow and ice. Quite the opposite, in fact. It felt like Simetra had already won and was announcing if to everyone.

The whitewashed walls in the distance were now as high as her hand.

“I thought this was a temple, but it’s better fortified than most towns I’ve seen,” Isak said.

“Seen many fortifications on your mission? Saph, I can’t believe we’re actually bringing him to the most sacred place in Alliquis. Please, see sense.”

“I’m sure it was an exaggeration, right Isak? It used to be just a temple here on the plain, centuries ago, but since then a town grew up around it, which then became a city, and the walls were built. The white is to guide people to it like a beacon.”

“Well, it looks like it works.” Isak pointed to another road across the plain where dozens of people made their way towards the city.

“That must be the other road,” Yolene said, so quietly that Saphielle barely heard. Isak, a few paces ahead, clearly didn’t. The other road. The one around the swamp. The one Dain Forbes would hopefully be travelling on, giving them plenty of time to retrieve Simetra’s Bow and leave again before he arrived. She scanned the road, searching for any sign of the Shepherds, but none of the tiny figures looked to be them. Yolene drew closer and draped an arm around Saphielle’s shoulder, bringing her lips close to her ear.

“We’re almost there. What do we do with the boy? It’s not as if he can come with us.”

“I know.” She sighed. It would be cruel to abandon him, but there was little she could say that would explain why they had to part ways without giving important information away. She’d have to cross that bridge when they came to it.

A couple of miles from the city, the two paths merged and they joined the constant trickle of pilgrims and refugees making their way to the temple. They came alongside a family, three adults and two young children. They were covered in dust and looked beaten down to dust themselves. One of the adults, a slender woman with brown hair turned a dull grey with road dust, stumbled and dropped her pack.

“Here, let me help with that,” Saphielle said. The woman shrank back. “It’s alright, I’m not going to hurt you. Here.” She handed the pack to the cowering woman, who snatched it and backed away.

“A thank you wouldn’t go amiss,” Yolene said.

“I apologise for my sister,” one of the men said. “It’s been a long journey here and the road has not been the kindest.” Both children clung to his legs, their thin faces curious yet scared.

Saphielle smiled. “No apology necessary. Tell me, why have you come here of all places? Surely Lendas would make a better refuge?”

“It may be better fortified, but where are the Firthenites more likely to attack? There were already enemy troops near its walls when I made the decision to flee our home. I hope we will be safer here.”

Isak gurgled and started to cough. Yolene slammed him on the back and almost knocked him off his feet.

“Best of luck to you,” Saphielle said to the family before turning to Isak. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, choked on my own saliva. My mother always said I’d be the death of me.” He smiled weakly as the family carried on towards the city.

“I didn’t risk my own neck in that swamp just for you to choke to death. Please try to stay alive,” Saphielle said.

“Or don’t,” Yolene said. “I’m easy either way.”

“Yol! You can’t say that. I don’t care what your opinion of Isak is, that’s not on. Really, I thought better of you.”

“He’s bad news, mark my words Saph. Sometimes your kindness blinds you to what’s staring you right in the face.’

“I am here, you know.” Isak’s face scrunched up and he looked as if he was trying not to cry.

“Alright, that’s enough. Yol, if you’ve got nothing nice to say, don’t say anything. Can we get to Brightfont before you both come to blows?” She placed herself between them and pushed them along the road.

She’d been right with her prediction and they reached the gates of the White City as the sun fell behind the enormous glass dome of Simetra’s Temple. The hundreds of panes reflected the red light and bathed much of the city in a crimson glow. Though over a century older than the temple in Lendas, the years had not dulled its stone nor tarnished the great dome.

Now she was in front of the whitewashed walls, she could appreciate the scale of them. They reminded her of the rugged chalk cliffs that marked the coastline of Alliquis, the piercing calls of the gulls replaced with the chirping of swallows who swooped from the top of the wall.

A dozen guards stood at the gate, far more than even Lendas. A crowd had formed at the mouth of the gate as the guards checked bags and packs of those waiting to enter.

“What are they looking for?” Yolene muttered.

“I don’t know. I’ve never known anywhere search people on their way in like this.”

Yolene leaned in so only Saphielle could hear. “You realise this is our chance to find out what’s in Isak’s satchel.”

“Does it matter? They’re his personal effects and we have no right to pry into them.”

“I’ll make you a deal. If the guards find nothing suspicious, I’ll drop my own concerns and make no further deal of it. If they do find something, however, I’ll drag him to the city gaol myself and turn him in. Then you get to give me a massive grovelling apology.” She nudged Saphielle and winked.

“Alright then, if it allays your worries I’ll agree to it. I look forward to seeing you on your knees.”

“You might have seen that sooner, if you’d not picked up the stray.”

They were nearing the front of the line and Saphielle found a gap between heads to observe the guards in action. They stopped one in four and ordered them to remove all bags before opening them up and having a good rummage. She glanced at Isak and noticed he clutched his satchel close to his chest.

Slowly they inched forwards to the gate until they were at the front of the queue.

“Open your bags and have them ready for inspection,” one of the guards barked.

“Go on.” Saphielle gave Isak a nudge and squeezed his shoulder. “They won’t bite.”

Yolene made no secret of the fact she wanted to see what was in the boy’s satchel as much as the guards. She pushed past Saphielle and stared over Isak’s shoulder.

“Come on, son, hold it open now.” The guard inspecting the bag was an older man with grey temples and a bald patch that covered most of his head. “Parchment, ink, brushes. Consider yourself something of an artist, do you? I used to carve animals out of wood, before I lost this.” He waggled the stump where his right middle finger should have been. “Go on, get yourself inside.”

Saphielle prodded Yolene in the back and raised an eyebrow. The other woman rolled her eyes.

“Fine, maybe he’s not dangerous.”

“I’ll take that as an apology.” She swung her own bag off and presented it to a different guard. “What’s all this for, anyway?”

“I guess you ain’t heard. The Firthenite army is marching on the Temple. There’s a chance they’ll be here by tomorrow night. These gates’ll close at noon and will only reopen on the orders of Dain Conis.”

Saphielle knew the name and could dimly picture the face that went with it. A Dain with close-cropped black hair and broad shoulders. Saphielle remembered being impressed how well the Dain suited the armour she wore at the last assembly.

The guard finished his search and waved her through. She passed through the gate in something of a daze. The enemy was coming here? That hadn’t been part of the plan at all. There was no point in finding Simetra’s Bow, if she couldn’t leave the city to use it.

“Do you really think it’s true?” she asked Yolene. They moved to the side of the road as the influx of refugees and those seeking sanctuary flowed further into the city.

“I see no reason for him to lie. It makes sense with the number of refugees turning up.”

“Shit.”

“I hope you’ve got some sort of plan, or that Simetra drops one into that skull or yours. First things first…” She nodded towards Isak. He was replacing a set of brushes into his satchel.

“Okay, I’ll do it. First, though, shouldn’t we–”

“Now.”

“Fine.” She approached the lad and tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped, dropping the last brush. “So, we made it. How are you feeling?”

“I could sleep for a year, but other than that I’m perfect.”

“Good. That’s good. Umm… I think it’s time we parted ways. Not that I haven’t enjoyed your company, because I have, but Yolene and I have things to be doing before we complete our journey to the temple. I’ll gladly help you find somewhere to stay if you need it, but that’s the last help I can give you.”

“You’ve already helped me more than I can repay. I wish you all the best.” Isak smiled and held out a hand, which she shook with feeling. He gave Yolene a curt wave before turning and wandering into the crowd on the main street leading from the gate to the temple.

“He didn’t put up much of a fight,” Yolene said. “In fact, I’d say he was ready to ditch us too, which seems dodgy in my book. He’s got an agenda here, I can feel it in my bones. I’m going to follow him.”

Saphielle sighed. “No, you aren’t. It doesn’t matter anymore, does it? He could be Dain Forbes or Queen Palona in disguise and it wouldn’t matter. All that matters is stopping the Wyrm, and we’re this close to the weapon that’ll help us do that.” She held thumb and forefinger so only a sliver of light could pass between them. “We can’t afford distraction. Anyway, I thought you said you’d drop it if he got through the search.”

“I say a lot of things, but if you really insist, I’ll leave him be. For now. I make no promises if our paths cross again.”

“Thank you. We need to find that Bow and get out again before the Firthenite army sets up camp at the gates.”

Saphielle

A Lucin’s robe was not an easy thing to come by, even in a city crawling with them. It had taken them most of the day to get their hands on the one Yolene now pulled over her head in a narrow alley near the rear of the temple. After their initial attempt to enter the temple that morning had been rebuffed by the soldiers at the doors, they’d had to resort to a more elaborate means of entry.

“Are you sure Simetra won’t mind us stealing?”

“She’s got more important things on her mind, I’m sure. Besides, we’re doing this at her behest, so she can’t really complain,” Saphielle said, smoothing the front of the robe. Children were taught as soon as they could understand that many behaviours obscured one from the light of Simetra, not least thieving. In this instance, though, they were fully justified.

To complete the disguise, she pulled out a length of rag and tied it around Yolene’s eyes.

“I can’t see a thing.”

“That’s something of the idea. You’d hardly pass as a Lucin if you strolled in with your eyes open.”

“I know, but it’ll look just as suspicious if I keep walking into things.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll guide you. You’ll have to trust me.”

“You know I do, even if I question your judgement at times, especially in regard to travelling companions.”

Saphielle punched her on the arm. “Well, you won’t have to worry about him any longer. Come on, it’s getting dark.”

She went first with Yolene’s hand on her shoulder. It hadn’t taken hadn’t taken much to appear dishevelled and sickly. Her reflection in the window was not the same Saphielle who’d set out from Lendas. Her cheekbones were more prominent and there were deep bags under her eyes. A powdering of flour and she looked the image of a poorly citizen come for healing at Simetra’s temple.

She guided Yolene around the corner and towards the Lucins’ entrance to the temple. Two guards, greying and world-weary, leant beside the door and glanced up as they approached.

“Evening, Lucin. Who’s this?”

Yolene didn’t answer and the younger of the two guards squinted in her direction. Saphielle nudged her with an elbow.

“Oh, yes. This unfortunate woman is ill and has begged me to pray for her under the sacred flame.”

“You know we aren’t meant to allow the public in at the moment. Not saying I agree with it, mind, in times like these somewhere to pray is a blessing, but those are my orders, what with the king and Archlucin arriving imminently.”

Saphielle gave her most pathetic cough, but her mind was racing at the guard’s words. What could they possibly need to do here in Simetra’s Temple that they couldn’t do in the temple in Lendas? Unless they also knew about Simetra’s Bow and wanted to use it as a weapon in their fruitless war.

“I fear she doesn’t have long for this world. It is my role as a Lucin to bring peace to those who need it, surely you cannot deny that.” With a speech like that, Yolene would have made a good addition to the clergy.

The guard scratched his cheek and sighed. “Go on then, but don’t tell Captain Beecham or he’ll have my guts for garters.”

“May Simetra bless you, child.”

Saphielle surreptitiously led Yolene past the guards before they changed their minds and into the temple. The corridor on the other side was completely black. She almost laughed. What use would Lucins have for lanterns? Thankfully, the passage was short and they managed to stumble along it without meeting any true Lucins or falling over anything.

The statue of Simetra filled the temple from the floor to the glass dome far above. At least three times the size of the one in Lendas, it exuded an air of command as well as comfort. Simetra was benevolent, of course, but she was still an Ilskini, and one of the most powerful at that. With this statue, it was easy to remember that. Between her feet was a stone bowl a good ten paces across and within it burned the sacred flame. She’d been taught the fire had burned ceaselessly for centuries, and that the Lucins of Brightfont were responsible for ensuring that continued. If the flame went out, a terrible fate would befall Alliquis. But the flame still burned and that hadn’t prevented the arrival of the Great Wyrm.

Yolene pulled off her blindfold and gasped. “It’s beautiful.”

“Isn’t it?” Saphielle approached the vast plinth on which Simetra stood. Life-sized carvings depicted dozens of scenes from the saga of the Ilskini, each one depicting Simetra at its centre. The detail was exquisite. Even the finest craftspeople of the age would be unable to replicate it, and somewhere amongst the pictures was a way into the vault which lay below. She pulled the arrowhead out of her clothes and the sacred flame danced across its smooth surface. How was it a key?

By the time they’d circled the base of the statue, the sky had darkened.

“Are you sure this is where Simetra said the door would be?” Yolene asked. “It doesn’t look promising.”

“That’s what she said, so it must be here somewhere. Keep looking.”

The temple was off limits to the public, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be more Lucins wandering around, even at this hour. Directly beneath the sacred flame was a relief of the goddess with her arms spread wide and a blazing sun behind her.

Saphielle placed her hand on the Goddess’ stone chest. “You’re not making this easy, are you?” She fancied she heard a faint laugh, but it could well have been her weariness playing tricks. Then she noticed the pendant around Simetra’s neck. An arrowhead, like the one she wore, but inset into the stone.

“I wonder…” She slipped the leather thong over her head and pressed the arrowhead into the groove. There was a click and a hiss like the lift doors in the White Spire, and the outline of Simetra and the sun pushed outward and slid aside.

“Yol, I’ve found it.”

Yolene arrived at her shoulder in moments and squealed with excitement. “It actually exists!”

“I told you it did.” Saphielle took the arrowhead and returned it to around her neck. She held her hand out towards Yolene. “Together?”

“Together.” They stepped through the opening hand in hand. Inside they found nothing but a spiral staircase leading down. A vein of flamestone ran around the wall and let out a soft glow that illuminated the steps. Any warmth that had been left from the day was now gone, sucked into the stone that surrounded her and the lower they went the mustier the air became. When they finally reached the bottom, the place smelled like old parchment. As Saphielle stepped from the final stair, more flamestone flared to life, illuminating a white stone room with a single door leading from it.

“Welcome… to the oldest and most sacred part of my temple.” Simetra’s voice sounded in her head, though it was faint as if from a distance.

“I fear I have less time than anticipated. The Firthenite army marches on Brightfont and my father, too. I must leave the city before either arrive. Tell me where to find your Bow.”

“She’s here, isn’t she?” Yolene breathed, and Saphielle nodded in response.

“You must not dally, then. This is the oldest part of my temple and the most dangerous. Catacombs stretch for miles beneath the plain where the unwary could lose themselves. Follow my directions precisely.”

Yolene shed the robe and ditched it beside the stairs. The door led onto a passageway. As Saphielle stepped through, the veins of flamestone that wormed through the stone came to life along the walls, floor and ceiling.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

A dozen or more doors led off from the tunnel, but Simetra’s voice told her to ignore all but one. Without instruction, she would have been lost in moments as the Goddess directed her through the warren.

“This is it. Place my token in the centre of the door and claim my Bow.” There was no intricate detail to this door. A plain stone slab with a place for the arrowhead the only thing to break up its uniformity. It opened silently when Saphielle placed it in.

The space beyond was no larger than a storeroom, but it didn’t need to be. Inside was a single object, hung from two hooks on the wall opposite.

The limbs a white wood she didn’t recognise, carved in a spiralling pattern from nock to nock. Flamestone tipped each end and more were inset along the body. The Bow was unstrung, but the string itself – nocked at one end and the other loop loose around the lower bow limb – was woven from gold so that it sparkled in the light of the flamestone.

“The Bow.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Yolene said.

“This is the very weapon that defeated the Great Wyrm and its kin centuries ago. I gift it to you for the same purpose.”

Saphielle lifted the Bow down and weighed it in her hand. The grip fit her hand perfectly.

“I do not bequeath this to you lightly. It has immense power and, in the wrong hands, could be used for ill as well as for good. It is, however, the only way to kill the Great Wyrm and I trust you to do that. It’s not an exaggeration to say the future of Ebria will be decided by your actions. Make the right choices, Saphielle Sim Donest, for we are at your mercy.”

Yolene placed a hand on her shoulder, her eyes wide and fixated on the Bow. Then she shook her head and the normal Yolene returned.

“It’s stunning, but won’t you stand out somewhat with a weapon like that?”

“That’s a good point, especially now with the Firthenites so close.”

“You do not have to worry about that. I have applied a glamour so that the Bow’s true nature will remain hidden until it is needed against the Great Wyrm.” Saphielle looked down and the Bow had become a simple wooden stave with a worn grip and uneven nocks. If she walked by someone carrying such a thing in the street, she wouldn’t give them a second glance.

“Go well, my champion.” The voice faded and she felt suddenly alone, despite Yolene next to her.

“Come on, as you said, we have little time,” Yolene said.

“Here, you carry it. I’d only lose it anyway. You know what I’m like.” She pressed the Bow into Yolene’s hands. They’d need a case for it once they left the temple, but that would be easy enough to come by.

They retraced their steps, aided by the flamestone veins that pulsed along the floor in the right direction. As they emerged back into the first chamber, someone appeared from the staircase. Yolene yelped and leapt back, but a dark shape followed. Something long and hooked connected with Yolene’s skull and she slumped to the floor.

The dark shape stepped into the light, though their face remained in shadow.

“Saphielle Sim Donest, it looks like you’ve got nowhere else to run.”

Ashuto

If all the buildings in Sinsu — the houses, barns, tavern and hall — had been brought together and stacked on top of each other, they still wouldn’t have filled the space that was Simetra’s Temple. The stone that formed it was whiter than marble. Every facet was carved with intricate detail. Stone faces peered out from between trees and animals pranced atop buttresses. Everywhere he looked, he saw another marvel, but it wasn’t the stonework which was the most impressive sight.

The glass dome which had been visible even beyond the walls towered over him, a glittering mosaic of panes that caught the last of the sunlight and threw it back in a burning shower. He shuddered. It would have been beautiful, had it not reminded him of the fire that had scorched the sky and laid ruin to Craydon. Most of the refugees clustered in the square before the temple did not carry the same association, however, and they stared up in reverence. There must have been a thousand bodies crammed into the square and he wove between them. What were they hoping to receive here, food and shelter? Protection from the approaching army? The first two seemed to be in short supply, and the third was impossible. The Unbreakables and the rest of the army would sweep over the walls like storm rain and wash these people away. There was nothing they could do to stop it.

He reached the wide, white steps leading up to the main door of the temple. A spear flashed down in front of him and blocked his path.

A guard in polished armour stepped out from behind one of the pillars. “All refugees must remain in the square until ordered otherwise.”

“I wish only to pray,” Ashuto replied.

“You and everyone else. You’ll stay over there with the rest of your stinking lot. It’s bad enough, you all flooding in here and bringing your dirt with you, now we’re having to prepare for a siege with thousands of extra mouths to feed.” The guard jabbed his spear butt at Ashuto’s chest and he stumbled back, narrowly avoiding being knocked down.

Reluctantly, Ashuto turned his back on the temple. The family they’d briefly spoken to on the road into Brightfont huddled together not far away. The woman sported a deep purple bruise around her eye and there was a streak of dried blood on her lip. She looked fearfully at the guard and Ashuto immediately knew the sort of man he was. Only the truly weak took pleasure in tormenting those who already had nothing.

He felt sorry for them all, shoved into the square like livestock. However, their king had started the war and this was the result. He highly doubted the monarch was experiencing the same desperation as his subjects. Wasn’t that always the case? The rich and powerful wage war and the poor suffer for it.

The moon was a mere shaving as it rose behind the temple’s glass dome. Soon it would be the new moon, the only opportunity to recharge the Great Wyrm’s token, and there was still one use. A coolness emanated from his pocket, as if the scale could sense it was about to be called into use. When he took it out, veins glowed silver beneath its alabaster surface. Rivers of light dancing under ice. The waning moon gave it new power and a thin mist wafted above it. Amul and Simetra were two sides of the same coin, moon and sun, night and day, and the Great Wyrm fed off the decline of their strength.

He leant over the shallow parapet and checked the street below was clear. It had taken him less than a minute to climb the rear wall of the temple onto a low roof above the Lucins’ entrance. Two old guards manned the door, but they’d been too preoccupied with a game of dice to notice him slip into a blind spot and shimmy up the wall. He thought he’d been spotted at one point, when a woman came out of the temple and disturbed the guards’ gambling. She, however, was a Lucin and her blindfold prevented her seeing anything at all. A strange custom, but no more unusual than tattooing one’s face like the Noxa. Those driven to a life of religious devotion did whatever their deity commanded, or were said to have commanded, anyway. He retreated to the cover of the temple wall with the scale. The gash in his thumb had knitted over, leaving a vivid pink line where the scale had carved his flesh. He inhaled and pressed that line to the edge of the scale once more. Pleasure mixed with the sharp pain as his skin parted and dark red blood oozed from the wound. It bubbled on the scale’s surface and vanished almost instantly. Ice burst out, coating his hand and he bit back a scream at the sudden cold.

“Yes, they are here.” The Wyrm’s voice thrummed with spirit. “I can feel them, smell them. They stink of hope and light. Simetra is weakened and her champion is unaware of you. Hmm, I can taste their corruption on the air. Find them and snuff them out.” The scale fell to the floor, dull and lifeless and the ice on his skin melted into mist. Thankfully, he no longer needed it. Simetra’s champion was here.

He sucked on his thumb until the bleeding stopped and turned his gaze skyward. He’d chosen this place to climb for two reasons. Firstly, there were fewer eyes, but more importantly because of the balcony twenty feet above. The temple wall was smoother than the crags above Craydon, but his fingers were nimble and his time in Alliquis had shed the last of his childhood fat. The climb took moments and he found himself on a small platform with a stone archway leading inside. With the guards on the doors, worshipers were kept out and it was late enough that the priests of Simetra would be asleep. Even so, he muffled his footsteps as best he could. A short passage ran to a walkway looking down on the temple floor, level with the hip of the towering statue of Simetra.

A chilling thought intruded. What if Simetra’s champion had already been and gone? All he knew from the Great Wyrm was the champion was nearby. It was the remnants of his dream that he followed into the temple. The walkway spiralled to the ground and he took it at a run, arriving panting at the bottom.

A feeling that he’d been here before hit him and sent him physically reeling back into one of the mighty columns. Veins of flamestone rippled across the ceiling where the rest of the temple was held up, streaking in burning lines up the walls towards the dome. They transfixed him for a moment before he remembered why he was there. A statue of Simetra stood at the centre of the space, her hand upraised, pointing at the sky. A rectangle of light opened in the statue’s base, spilling a puddle of gold onto the temple floor.

He pressed himself up against the pillar as he’d done in his dream, and that jarring feeling hit him again, of knowing what would happen before it did. Soon, Simetra’s champion would emerge from that rectangle and walk towards him. He’d been worried, for a time, that it would be him captured. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d seen himself from a distance, but he was here and the champion was there, and unless something catastrophic happened, it was he who had the upper hand. He gripped the hilt of the knife tightly.

Saphielle

Dain Forbes stood in shadow with his Shepherd’s crook in hand.

“I’m not going to patronise you by giving you the speech again. You’re a clever girl, you know the only option is to come with me, so let’s do this quickly and painlessly.” He twisted the crook and a blade appeared in his hand.

“I’d rather gouge out my own eyes than go anywhere with you voluntarily.”

“I’d gladly gouge them out for you, but unfortunately, your father has decided he needs to be here, and I’d like to retain the favour I’ve already curried with him. A dead daughter won’t help in that regard.”

“You’ll have to drag me out.”

“Believe me, I intend to.” He stepped over Yolene’s unconscious body so that his torso entered the light of her own lantern, but left his head obscured.

It was a brave face Saphielle put up, but inside she was racked with worry. “Come and try your luck.”

“Try my luck?” he roared. “If it hadn’t been for your dirty trick, you’d have been locked up in Lendas weeks ago. Look what it’s done to me.” He came fully into the light and Saphielle recoiled. The skin around his eyes was red and cracked. A pink liquid seeped from one of the cracks and trickled down his cheek. “By all rights, I ought to slay you right here, but I have other things in store for you. Not least, to reunite you with your father and show him what you’ve done. A devout man such as the king would have no choice but to dedicate his daughter to the church once he knows what she can do. Lucin Saphielle, it has a certain ring to it, and I’ll make sure I’m the one to put your eyes out. You’ll live with the fear of me forever.”

He thrust the tip of his sword at her leg, quicker than fork-lightning. She jumped back and twisted so that it cut the fabric of her trousers but left her thigh unscathed. Her own sword stuck in the sheath as she tugged it free. Forbes’ weapon was inches from her chest when she managed to get it out and make a parry that would have had Dain Baku yelling at her if she’d done it in sparring. As it was, it saved her life.

“That looks a bit sore,” she hissed. “I’m sure someone could get you a salve for it. It’s an improvement, though.”

Forbes’ skin cracked even more with the effort he was exerting. “I’ll get my retribution for what you’ve done to me.” His leg swept round and caught the back of hers. She tumbled backwards and her head bounced off the wall. He hacked at her as she lay there. Left, she rolled, then right, and he hit the ground, his sword gouging shallow divots in the stone floor where she’d been. The flamestone in the floor cast strange shadows, turning the two of them into twisting, elongated shapes that writhed on the walls.

Dain Forbes stood over her. The calm, cold man she’d fought at Forest Edge was gone, replaced by this snarling, spitting monster. He raised his sword in both hands, the point ready to be driven through her chest despite his earlier words that he wouldn’t kill her. She kicked out and caught his knee with her boot. He yelled which gave her enough time to roll aside once more and fight her way back to her feet. His hair was as wild as his eyes, his rage as red as his skin.

She glanced at the Bow in Yolene’s limp hand. Useless right now, anyway. She feinted high and, as Dain Forbes raised his blade to parry, she dropped her height and cut at his hip. He twisted like a fish on a line, but the steel glanced through his flesh. The Shepherd grunted and red droplets splattered on the ground. She had him. The Dain’s anger made him reckless. The swordsmanship that she’d struggled to deal with the last time they fought had evaporated.

“I’ll never let you escape, Princept. Even if you manage to get away now, I’ll hunt you down. Anywhere you try to hide, I’ll find you. Every time someone walks up behind you, you’ll worry that it’s me. I will haunt your dreams and your daytimes.” He slashed again, a wild arc that cut only air.

There was just one thing she could do. Forbes had said it himself, she’d never be free of him. Dain Forbes, the Great Wyrm’s champion. Surely that was the only reason he’d pursued her this long, this far. She blocked Forbes’ next attack, stepped closer and slammed her elbow into his chest. His sword dropped from his fingers, leaving him unarmed. That was a step too far. It was one thing killing a man while he was trying to kill her, but now? Unthinkable.

“Pick your sword up, Forbes. I, at least, have my honour intact.”

“So you can spit me? I don’t think so.” He hurled himself at her waist. The ferocity of it took her by surprise. His bony shoulder smashed into her stomach. Her breath was driven from her lungs in a rush of air. She brought the hilt of her sword down on the Dain’s back, but it was like a raindrop striking a mountain. Her feet slid across the stone floor. She tried to dig in but, though the floor was not polished, it was worn smooth with age and her boots failed to gain purchase.

Dain Forbes snarled like a Rhenwarg and she hit the staircase. Her feet stopped on the bottom step but the rest of her kept going with all Forbes’ weight on top of her.

The corner of a step cracked against the back of her head and blinding white light exploded in her vision. Her arm went numb, fingers limp.

The Shepherd knelt on her rib cage, stopping her from taking anything more than a shallow breath. She sought his face with her fingers, but he batted her hand away.

“You always were a disappointment to your father, you know. Now Barok, there was a proper Princept. The king would sacrifice a dozen of you, if he could only bring his son back. At least he’ll get the chance to put you in your place.”

Hot tears leaked down her face, mirroring the liquid that ran from Forbes’ wounds. It couldn’t end like this. Everything she’d already done, for nothing. With her father and the Archlucin arriving, it was as if she’d never left home.

“Crying won’t help, I’ve lost track of the volume of tears I’ve eked out. A few more won’t have any effect.” He delivered a back-handed slap that left her cheek stinging. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to drive the last of her willpower from her body. She slumped against the steps, tears falling freely.

“That’s better,” Dain Forbes said. “Calm yourself down and we can get this over and done with. I reckon your father will have just arrived, let’s go and see him, shall we? Hmm, what’s this?” His slim fingers plucked the arrowhead off her chest where it had fallen out of her shirt. “That’s a nice trinket, I think I’ll have that. You know, as a souvenir.” He pulled the leather strap roughly over her head and placed it around his own neck. “Yes, I think that suits me. We shouldn’t keep his majesty waiting any longer. On your feet.”

Standing up felt like the hardest thing she’d ever done. Forbes collected his sword and kicked hers down one of the corridors. With the tip of his weapon at her throat, he frisked her quickly, finding the knife and throwing that away too. Now she was completely unarmed, he took a pair of manacles from a pouch on his belt. The cold metal bit into her wrists as he locked them and the chain jangled softly.

Yolene groaned and her eyes fluttered open as Dain Forbes shackled her too.

“Now walk, and don’t even think about running. I won’t hesitate to run you through if you try to escape.”

Saphielle’s legs shook when she took the first step. The Bow lay on the ground where it had fallen from Yolene’s grasp. Useless, just like her. Everyone would suffer because of her. Endless winter was coming and she couldn’t stop it. More fool her for ever thinking she was up to the task. If only she could see her darling Mirabelle one more time, just once, to tell her she loved her.

“I’m sorry, Yol. I don’t think I can get us out of this one.”

“We’ll find a way. You hear that, you greasy prick? You can’t hold us, and when we get free, we won’t be as lenient as last time. I will personally put you back in the mud.”

“Shut up, foolish girl. You’ve lost. Learn to live with it. For as long as you have left, at least.”

As they reached the top of the stairs, Dain Forbes pushed past her and peered through the door. Satisfied, he dragged her out. A body lay slumped against the wall beside the door. There was a blindfold around his head and a red line cut across his throat. Forbes must have slaughtered him as he entered. Another life ripped so cruelly away.

Her stomach heaved and she jerked away from the body. Her foot caught the dead Lucin’s ankle and she stumbled into the Dain, before falling to the ground.

“Get up, girl. I’ll tolerate none of this.” He grabbed the chain between her wrists and pulled her across the floor. She was so weary, she didn’t even try to stop him.

A small figure appeared from behind one the pillars in front of them, but Forbes didn’t appear to notice them at first. It was only when the newcomer was a couple of feet away that the Shepherd became aware of their existence.

“Out of my way,” Forbes said. The figure came forward and metal glinted in their hand, too late for the Dain to do anything about. They lunged and stabbed something into his neck. Forbes gargled, choking for air, but his throat and lungs were already filling with blood. It sluiced down his chest and splashed into a puddle on the floor around his feet, growing with every weakening pump of his heart. He spluttered and fell sideways, hitting the floor with a thud. His final breath was a wet thing that hissed from his ruined throat. The gleam of life died in his eyes.

“Who are you?” Saphielle asked. She didn’t have the strength for another fight, but if she was going to die the same way Dain Forbes had, she at least wanted to know who’d done it. Then she noticed the knife protruding from Forbes’ neck. Brass and leather. A handle she knew fit snugly into her own palm, even with the slight scuff by the pommel. A gift to a boy she met in a swamp.

“Isak?”

“Saphielle?” Smooth hands grabbed her wrists and pulled her up. Isak stood there, mouth slightly agape, with a fine mist of blood across his shirt and face. His eyes drifted down to Dain Forbes’ body, then snapped up again.

“What are you doing here?”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Yolene added.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Who are you, really?” Saphielle backed away from the boy.

“I’m not going to hurt you. You wouldn’t understand if I tried to explain why I had to do this, but I promise he’s the only one. Look, I’ve got no more weapons.” He held his arms out and spun slowly around.

“Get us out of these,” she shook the chains at him. Isak knelt beside Dain Forbes’ body and rooted through his pockets for the key. Even from where Saphielle stood, it was clear he was avoiding looking at the dead man’s face.

“Got it!” He unlocked her first before moving on to Yolene. A good idea, as Yolene may well have strangled him there and then. She rubbed her wrists then her forehead until the friction hurt.

“We need to hide the bodies,” she said eventually. Two corpses in the nave of Simetra’s temple, especially with one of those a Lucin, would raise suspicions they couldn’t afford.

Dain Forbes was surprisingly heavy for a thin man as Saphielle grabbed him under the arms and dragged him across the floor towards the vault, leaving a smear of blood in her wake.

“We should be leaving three bodies in here, not two,” Yolene said darkly. Isak stared at the blood trail with his eyes wide, oblivious.

“Look at him,” Saphielle said. “He’s not a natural killer. Besides, how many opportunities has he had to do us harm since we met him? He will have reasons for what he did, but it’s not as if we don’t have our own secrets.”

Yolene scowled but took the dead Lucin’s armpits and dragged him into the vault after Saphielle and the Dain. At the bottom, they laid the bodies side by side.

“He doesn’t deserve this, to be laid in so sacred a place,” Saphielle said.

“Who was he?” Isak had appeared behind them like a cat.

“You mean you don’t know the man you murdered?” Yolene turned her hard gaze on the boy.

“I didn’t have a choice. If I didn’t do it, something terrible was going to happen.”

“Horse shit. How do you expect us to believe that?” Yolene curled her hands into fists.

“Everyone calm down. Isak rescued us, whether he intended to or not. That’s enough for me to trust him for now. We can continue this conversation somewhere without dead bodies. Don’t forget your knife.” She pointed to the dagger still stuck in the side of Forbes’ neck. The tip was just visible on the other side.

Isak paled. “I don’t want to touch it.”

“That’s fair enough. I’d stay as far away from that thing as I could as well.” She bent down and drew the blade free with a wet sucking noise before wiping it on the Dain’s cloak. She passed it hilt first to the boy. “There we go, good as new.”

“You’re giving him his weapon back?”

Saphielle ignored the question and retrieved her own sword from where the Dain had kicked it. The Bow followed, slung over her back where she couldn’t lose it. Returning to the Dain’s body, she tugged Simetra’s token over his head and held it up.

“I’ll have that back, thank you.” She returned it to around her neck.

Isak’s eyes widened and he looked from her to Forbes and back, his eyes wide as shield bosses. His cheeks had become an ashen grey.

“Are you feeling alright?” she asked.

“Umm… what? Oh, yes. Fine. Light headed, that’s all.” His gaze lingered on the Dain for a moment longer, then he shivered and his colour returned.

“Good. Before we go, there’s something I need to tell you that might explain all this a bit better.”

“You’re not about to do what I think you’re about to do, are you?” Yolene’s eyes were narrowed and her nose wrinkled in that cute way she did when she was angry.

“I don’t have a choice, we can’t exactly leave him here, knowing what he already knows. It’s either we fill him in and he comes with us, or, well…”

“The second option gets my vote.” Yolene pulled a dagger from her boot and tossed it up. The weapon rotated in the air and the handle slapped into her palm.

“I am still here,” Isak said.

“Not for much longer.”

“Please, both of you, just shut up.” Saphielle grabbed Isak’s arm and turned him towards her. It wasn’t fair to keep him in the dark any longer, no matter what Yolene thought. “There’s more to this war than simply Alliquis versus Firthen. In fact, that’s nothing more than a tavern brawl compared to the real threat.”

“I can’t believe this.” Yolene rolled her eyes and leant against the wall, still gently throwing and catching the knife.

“Get used to it. The biggest issue we face is the ancient creature who wants to destroy the world as we know it and issue in an era of ice and snow so severe, there’s a chance it kills every living thing. This is, of course, bad, and I’m the only one who can stop it. I won’t go into why that is right now, but just know that by saving me from Dain Forbes, you may have saved the whole world.”

Isak went pale. His mouth opened, but he didn’t say anything.

“I know it’s a lot to take in, but it’s true. We’ll be leaving here tomorrow and heading west towards Simetra’s Peak and I want you to continue travelling with us. If you’d like to, that is.”

“I… I don’t know.”

“Come, let’s get outside and I’ll show you where our destination is. Who knows, you might be able to pick a route out for us.”

“I take it I don’t get a say in this, then?”

Saphielle rounded on Yolene with an unexpected anger flaring inside her. “What more does he need to do to prove himself to you? If you can’t find a way to trust him, at least trust me.”

“Show him where we’re going. I’ll wager anything he pisses himself and runs away, which’ll save everyone the trouble.”

Saphielle nodded. That was something. Getting Yolene to budge even that much was no small achievement.

Pel

I lay awake in the tent looking up into the darkness and contemplating the possibility that my sanity was deserting me. I’d seen Rawl fall into oblivion, I knew I had. Yet the evidence of my eyes was refuted by the old bastard warming himself by the fire as if nothing had happened. So maybe nothing had, and I’d hallucinated it all under the stress of the White Wyrm’s attack.

I shuddered under my blanket and not from the cold. If I really was losing my mind, how long would it be until I did something stupid? No, I knew what I’d seen. Rawl must have found a way to save himself. A ledge I hadn’t spotted maybe, or a ladder of some sort. The other thing I didn’t understand was… why lie about it? I’d got to know the old man well on our journey so far, and the only thing he loved as much as telling stories was showing off. If he had a tale of daring such as that, I would have expected him to regale every woman, Hunter and Snowfiend within a hundred miles with it. The man was hiding something and I needed to know what. There were too many coincidences for it to simply be chance. The feather from Ileta’s sanctuary, the bird that attacked the Snowbrute, and now this. It was like looking in a frosted mirror. All I had to do was clean the surface and the full picture would be revealed.

The light breathing of my tent-mates told me I was the last one awake. If only our luggage was here in the Sanctuary rather than the far side of the ridge. Part of me wanted to climb back over and rummage through it, see if it exposed any answers, but the ridge had been bad enough in the light and the White Wyrm was still over there somewhere. I could nose around here, though. I extracted myself from the blanket and padded to the flap of the tent. Rawl had retreated to the tent next to mine, so that was where I’d start my search. What I was looking for, I didn’t know. I just hoped I’d know it when I saw it. The other thing I had to be wary of was Ileta. If she caught me sneaking around again, she’d throw me out no matter what Harunath now thought of me. My breath misted as I stepped out of the tent. What must it have been like to be alive back then? To feel the warmth of Simetra’s Burning Arrow, the one that measured the passing of days rather than her Final Arrow which only brough death. I imagined it to be like sitting close to a fire, but that heat reaching all of my body instead of only the front.

And the colours. Greens and yellows, reds, oranges. I’d have given almost anything to see those colours bloom from the ground. In the world we now lived in, those colours meant nothing good. Except fire, of course. A fire was the most welcome sight a cold, hungry man could come across. The bank of embers from our own fire glowed softly, orange light rippling across the last of the fuel. I shed my glove and made to pull my pendant out from within my clothes.

“I wondered when you’d appear.”

I jerked my hand away and jumped a foot into the air. “Fuck me, Rawl, you almost made me shit myself. What are you doing awake?”

“Are you deaf, or simply stupid? I’m waiting for you, idiot boy. Sit down.” I approached slowly, as I would a wounded animal. This time yesterday, I’d have had no issue planting my arse beside the old man, but now I’d seen him come back from the dead and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

“I said sit.” This time, Rawl’s voice held the sort of gravel that made people obey even against their better judgment. I found a seat a few yards away from him and lowered myself into it.

“Are you going to tell me how you did it?” I asked.

“Did what?”

I sighed. “Contrary to your opinion, I’m neither stupid nor am I blind. I watched you fall off that cliff and now you’re sitting here as if nothing happened. I want an answer, Rawl, or I’ll tell Ileta your secret.”

“And what secret would that be?” He laughed dryly.

“That it was who stole her chain the night we stayed there. Let’s see what she thinks of that.” It was a long shot. I had no solid evidence, but with everything else that had happened, it was more than a possibility.

“Come on, Pel. Do you really think that will change anything? Let me give you the advice I stayed out in the cold to part with. Stop digging. Accept that Ileta will never trust you fully and make your peace with it. In four days, we’ll be at Brightfont and you’ll never have to see her again. All you need to do is keep your nose out of trouble until you get there.”

“I’m not looking for trouble. Trouble has found us, if you hadn’t recalled. Snowfiends, a White Wyrm, and Simetra only knows what else to come.”

“Simetra knows nothing, not anymore. I’m old, Pel, older than you think, and I’ve gained a wealth of wisdom in those years. Trust me on this. Keep yourself, and everything you carry, safe. Remember the purpose of your journey and don’t allow yourself to become distracted from it. There are forces in this world that will take that opportunity to rip away what little we have.”

My hand moved to the hollow of my throat. He couldn’t know, could he? What if he did, what were his intentions? “Who are you?”

“I’m just an old man who’s seen a lot. An old man who’s joints ache in the cold and who dearly wishes to see the sun again.” He patted my knee with a gnarled hand and smiled warmly, the same way my grandfather had smiled at me when I was small. “I’ll take myself off to bed now. Mind you don’t get too cold out here.”

I let him go, listening to his shuffling footsteps fade away and staring into the embers. The fact he’d been waiting for me surely meant I’d seen what I thought I had, and if that was true, what did that make him? My pendant sat against my skin and I fondled the strap that hung around my neck. My mother’s words came to mind once more.

Take this with you to Brightfont. You’ll know what to do with it when you get there.

She’d said that to me the night before I started my journey and she’d given me the pendant, placing it reverently over my head. What would she be doing now? I chuckled. She’d be asleep, without a doubt, my father snoring softly beside her. It was funny. His droning always drove me mad and no matter what I tried, I could never drown it out completely, but I’d give almost anything to hear it again through the thin wall that separated our bedrooms. It would be a long time before I returned home, and whilst my parents weren’t anywhere near as old as Rawl, they were both in their sixties and life in our village was far from easy. I’d pleaded with them on numerous occasions to move to a larger settlement, but mother said she preferred the quiet life. With eight houses in the village, it certainly qualified as quiet, if you didn’t count the constant battle with the elements or the Rhenwargs.

“Hey, why are you awake at this hour?” For the second time in less than an hour I jumped out of my coat. Part of me expected it to be Ileta stalking over to have another go at me, so I was relieved when Orbur hobbled into the small circle of light cast by the embers.

“Couldn’t sleep, so I came to get some fresh air. Don’t worry, I’m going back now, though I could say the same about you. That ankle of yours needs rest.”

“Good, you know you shouldn’t be out of the tents at this time. My ankle will be just fine. It’s not broken, thankfully, only sprained, and this splint will keep me moving until morning. We heal far quicker than you fragile humans. Because it’s you, I won’t tell the wardens, but only this time.”

I nodded my thanks and returned to the tent. I supposed I had some of the answers I’d been looking for, but our conversation had raised just as many questions as it had answered. One thing, at least, was certain. My curiosity had not waned in the slightest.

Rawl kept his distance from me the next morning. Once breakfast had been warmed up — there had thankfully been enough food at the Sanctuary for a couple of meals, what with our own rations still with our luggage on the other side of the ridge — I’d tried to corner the old man, but he made his excuses and stayed out of my way. I had to keep my mind occupied, or else I’d drive myself mad trying to pull answers from its depths, so I sought out Harunath.

As ever, at this time of a morning, he was supervising the dishing up of breakfast.

“Do you just love looking at food, or is there another reason you keep such a close eye on proceedings?” I asked.

The warden grunted a greeting. “I can no longer count on my fingers the number of murders I’ve witnessed over food. A few days of hunger can turn the most mild-mannered man into an animal. I’ve found the best way to defuse any tensions is to divvy it out myself.”

“I suppose that makes sense. What’s the plan for today?”

“Those who’re capable will go back across the ridge and retrieve the baggage sleds. Once they’re over here, we can unload them onto the larger ones again.” He pointed to a sheet that covered a number of big, bulky objects.

I groaned on the inside. I’d hoped I’d seen the last of those as inevitably I ended up pulling one. I had no issue with pulling my weight, but a break every now and then would have been nice.

“Can I assume that I fall into the ‘capable’ category?”

“Only just.”

Those assigned to the retrieval mission gathered a short while later at the Sanctuary gates. It was the usual crowd, plus half the Hunters and Harunath. Ileta stayed behind to oversee the rest striking what little of the camp belonged to our group. It was a bright, clear morning. The terrible weather of the day before had blown through overnight and had left a crisp crust of fresh snow that covered our tracks. The ridge stood tall, crowned with a fresh, white mantle. The closer we got, the more a pressure built up inside me, and I wasn’t the only one. Everybody was twitchy, jumping at each strange sound.

The ridge looked gentler from this side, as if the fall was merely an inconvenience rather than a death sentence. Though, what did I know? Clearly some people were able to survive it. We reached the base and I swear I was so taut you could have plucked me like a bowstring. I ran my gaze across to the far side. The White Wyrm wasn’t visible, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t still there. This was exactly the terrain it was most suited to.

“How do we know it’s safe?” Modrik asked.

“We send you across and if you survive we’ll know it’s alright,” Harunath replied sharply, swinging a bag off his shoulder. Modrik scowled but kept his lips closed. The warden pulled out a number of fabric shapes that reminded me of the swaddles mothers used to secure their young children onto their backs.

“Yes, it is what it looks like,” Harunath said, “but they’re as useful for carrying bags as they are babies. We’ll all go over once the Hunters confirm we’re alone, then load yourselves up with as much as you can safely manage. It might take more than one trip but it’ll be worth it to have it all on the right side.” The Hunters swarmed across the ridge like it was flat ground and were on the other side before I knew it.

“What do we do if the creature is still there?” Modrik asked.

“We leave,” Harunath replied. “We can make Brightfont with what was left in the Sanctuary, but it’ll be a push. I’d much rather have what’s over there to fall back on.”

One of the Hunters stood on the far side, waving at us. I acknowledged with a wave of my own and received a throat-cutting gesture in reply.

“There might be bad news on that front,” I said.

“Alright. You’re with me, Pel. The rest of you stay here until I call you over. Understood?” Everyone nodded. They were as keen to cross as I was, but I didn’t have the choice. Harunath went first, and once again his heavy frame belied his agility. I, on the other hand, clung to the rock like a Bone Sucker to a corpse, holding my breath every time I moved my feet. For some reason, it was harder this time. Might have had something to do with the fact I was potentially climbing towards the White Wyrm rather than away from it. An innate will to live subtly controlling my movements.

Eventually though, I made it to the far side. The Hunters had arranged themselves in a half-circle and Harunath stood in the middle. They were all staring at something. Would it have been foolish to hope the Wyrm had choked on Kernick and dropped dead? I squeezed my way into the line and discovered the cause of everyone’s silence.

The pile of sleds had been reduced to splinters. Not a single one remained intact. The rolls of clothing and other personal items were shredded and scattered across the ground like feathers from a Frosthawk caught by a Rhenwarg. I nudged a twisted section of a runner with my boot and it rolled over in the snow.

“This doesn’t look like an accident,” I said.

“White Wyrms are not dumb creatures. They have a cunning and a malicious streak as wide as the Cutrock. This was revenge, and I guarantee this won’t be the last we see of the thing.” Harunath ran a hand over his chin and chewed on his bottom lip.

“Want us to do anything with this?” Orbur asked. She stood angled away from the warden, as if she wasn’t sure how to react to the situation and maybe she wasn’t. I’d not seen a Hunter exhibit attachment to anything other than their weapon, and the concept of owning things in the sense the rest of us did was foreign to them.

“It’s useless to us now,” Harunath replied. “We’re best off getting back and getting going. We’ll be quicker over the ground without it all, but it means we will definitely have to reach the next Sanctuary tonight. I’m not staying outside walls, now our building tools are gone.”

Orbur made some hand gestures and the Hunters formed a perimeter around the ridge as they had the day before. I hoped all of them would make it back this time. I took the lead and finally I had the hang of it, making the crossing only marginally slower than Harunath would have done if he had one arm tied behind his back. The warden clambered down behind me and as we headed towards the others, he grabbed my arm and brought his head close to my ear.

“I’ll have to inform Ileta and I can’t imagine her taking it well. I’ll have to stop her from hunting the White Wyrm down all by herself, too. What I mean is, don’t tell anyone what’s happened yet, it needs to come from me and I think I should tell everyone at the same time. Between you and me, we’re going to be ten times more exposed without that gear. All we can do is hope we make it, and we’ve not got a choice in that. There won’t be any more caravans passing this way for a while, long enough for us all to starve. Our only chance is to push on and pray to whatever Goddesses or Gods are left.”

“What’s the plan then, chief?” Modrik asked. His lips were tinged blue and he shook a little.

“Back to the Sanctuary for now. I’ll brief everyone at once as to the plan of action.”

There were confused looks, but Harunath was the warden, and no one dared to challenge.

“You want us to do what?” Rawl spluttered. Harunath had gathered everyone around a wagon with a shattered wheel and he addressed us from its bed.

“I know this is not what you wanted to hear, but quite frankly we don’t have a choice. Either we risk the final third of the journey, travelling lighter but more exposed, or we stay here and most likely starve. I know which option I’d rather take.”

“If it wasn’t for your poor decision-making in the first place, we wouldn’t have to choose.” Treti was the most animated I’d seen her on the journey, hair out of place and a fire in her eyes.

“That’s right! You brought the Wyrm here. Kernick’s death is already on your hands, and now the rest of ours will be too.” A flurry of nods rippled through the group.

“We ought to hang him!”

“No, leave him for the Wyrm. At least that will buy us time,” Rawl rasped.

I ran a hand through my hair. The situation could turn nasty and it needed stamping out while it was still a spark. I jumped up onto the wagon next to the warden.

“Listen. Even if you can pin the blame on Harunath, it doesn’t change anything. You could expel him from the group or just string him up here as a warning, but before you do, remember who marshalled us during the Snowfiend attack. Who’s kept us on the right path this entire time? I don’t know about you, but I’d feel safer with him around. Boil it down to self-preservation if you have to. We have the best odds of surviving if Harunath is in charge.”

“Hear, hear.” Ileta raised a fist and the corners of her lips twitched as her gaze settled on me. “Don’t think that I won’t raise this at the convocation, Harunath. You know as well as I that some of the choices you’ve made on this journey have left a lot to be desired, but that is not for us to decide. The Mote will decide if there is to be punishment, as has been the way since the Ruin. If anyone thinks differently, they’ll have to get through me first.”

“And me,” Orbur stepped forward to join the scrawny warden. “Kernick’s demise can be attributed to decisions this man has made, but it is not our place to do away with almost a century of tradition. Harunath will take us to Brightfont and his fate will be decided there.”

With both the Hunters and Ileta making their stand, the grumble of dissent fell quiet and fists were unclenched.

Harunath waited until there was quiet before he spoke again. “Good, now that’s established, we must leave imminently. There are enough packs between us for the food and water we need, and we can divide blankets out, but we can only take what we can easily carry. If it’ll slow us down, it gets left behind. I don’t have to tell you how dangerous it is outside these walls, even more so now we can’t fall back on a field camp. It’s not just the beasts we need to be wary of, blizzards and storms are just as dangerous as anything with claws or teeth, bar the White Wyrm perhaps. Thankfully, there’s no evidence of it having followed us across the ravine, so there’s that small mercy at least. Go, collect what little you have and return here.”

I hoped the logic of our words had convinced everyone to place their trust in Harunath until we reached Brightfont. Whatever happened, he had my complete backing. I’d led something of a sheltered existence until I started on my journey, but even so, I’d never met as natural a leader as him.

As directed, everybody collected back around the broken wagon a short while later. Backpacks bulged with what leftovers we could scavenge from the Sanctuary. It was wrong to strip a place like this – if the previous group had done the same, we’d have been in big trouble – but if we didn’t, we were as good as dead, so this time round, that lesser evil prevailed. Like always, the Hunters went out first and signalled the rest of us when they were sure it was safe. There was a silence that hadn’t been there any other morning. Perhaps the confirmation of how vulnerable we really were was starting to sink in.

The Sanctuary had disappeared into the distance when Rawl came up behind me.

“I’ve changed my mind,” he whispered, his breath a faint tickle on the back of my neck. “There are some things you deserve to know, but I won’t tell you them here. When we reach Brightfont, I promise I’ll give you the explanation you’re owed. Until then, listen carefully to the story, as you might pick up one or two useful nuggets of information.”

I turned towards him, but he’d already dropped back. He did, however, give me a wink before picking the story back up from where he’d left it the night before.

Ashuto

Ashuto couldn’t pin down where the churning in his stomach had originated from. The fact he’d killed a man or that Saphielle was the true champion and he’d been travelling with her for so long. Not only that, but he’d rescued her by killing an innocent man in cold blood. Innocent of the crime of being the Goddess’ servant at least, otherwise he’d come across as a thoroughly nasty piece of work. He wondered what the Great Wyrm would think of his own champion sabotaging the mission, albeit accidentally. He’d have to make it up somehow. The easiest way to do that was to take Saphielle out. It should be easy enough. She trusted him fully, so she wouldn’t expect him to harm her. The question wasn’t if he would get the opportunity, it was whether he’d be able to do it when that opportunity arose.

“The first thing we need to do,” Saphielle said as they climbed the steps, “is to get out of the city before it’s surrounded. If either army reaches the plain, our job will be ten times harder.”

“I think we might be a bit late for that.” Yolene had reached the top and peeked through the gap between the door and the wall.

Ashuto pressed his face to the half-inch crack. Thousands of bodies already filled the space, cramming into every square foot, but all faces were upturned. With the attention elsewhere, Saphielle pushed him through the door and the distraction became clear immediately.

Muffled explosions rattled the glass dome high above, the flashes lighting the temple for a fraction of a heartbeat. With every one, he worried it would shatter and drop. All that glass would shred anyone below like offal beneath a butcher’s cleaver.

When they could go no further into the crammed nave, Yolene’s elbow made them a space near one of the columns. The pillar he’d hidden behind earlier was occupied by a huddle of women, their heads together and shoulders shivering. With time to think, the smell of the place slapped him with a backhand. Thousands of refugees who likely hadn’t washed in days, if not longer, all crushed into a space designed for half their number. The stench of body odour was cut with the smell of burning torches, dozens of which had been attached hastily to the walls to provide enough light with which to see. His face screwed up and he forced himself to breathe through his mouth instead. He wriggled to the floor and spread his legs as much as he could. They were as good as trapped in here while the assault continued. More civilians came through the door with every moment and they would soon be so crammed in they’d be unable to move, let alone get out.

He closed his eyes. How long had it been since he’d slept without fear for his safety? One night? Three? Or since he’d left Craydon? Long enough that he could feel himself drifting off. Then a thought jerked him back awake. What if the Great Wyrm wanted to communicate with him? He couldn’t admit to his failure, not yet. With the power in the scale drained, his dreams were the only place the Wyrm could talk to him. Best to stay awake then, for as long as he could. His eyelids drooped again and he pinched the soft skin on the inside of his elbow. The sharp pain was enough to perk him up, for a short time at least.

After perhaps an hour, a ripple of chatter ran through the temple and a moment later trumpets blared at the door.

“It’s the king,” a girl behind him whispered in an awed tone. The words were picked up and amplified until ‘king’ was only word he could hear.

“Is it really him?” he asked.

“It appears to be.” Saphielle’s lips were tight and the colour in her cheeks had drained away.

“Clear the way. Make a path for his majesty!”

Steel beat on wood as the soldiers at the door slammed their gauntleted fists against their shields. Those inside the temple shuffled as best they could to create a walkway for the king of Alliquis. Ashuto stood on his tiptoes to get a glimpse of the royal party. Mirror-armoured Noonguard led the way, still beating their shields to force the refugees back. The soldier at the front took a few large steps forward and pushed a woman who was struggling to find a space out of the way. She went sprawling on the stone floor and the soldier kicked her as she crawled away.

Saphielle gasped next to him. He looked up at her and she had her hand pressed to her mouth. He couldn’t blame her. That sort of violence towards their own people, let alone an elderly lady, was not called for. Then again, he wasn’t surprised. The Noonguard had a reputation for being vicious. He’d seen firsthand how effective they were on the battlefield and that rage had to channel somewhere when they were off it.

It wasn’t long until the Noonguard had thrashed an aisle down the centre of the nave between the columns. A score of them lined each side to keep the stinking hordes away from the king.

He strained his neck to catch a glimpse of King Haradrok. The man had a hard reputation back home. His name was spoken in whispers, and old men in the taverns spat when they heard it. They remembered a time when the Tythelands belonged to Firthen, and that grave insult had not left the collective Firthenite memory.

The royal party clanked further into the temple. This close to the Noonguard, the light of the torches and image of the crowd were distorted in their breastplates and helmets. They had stern faces and their eyes continuously darted across the crowd, looking for trouble. The fight on the bridge came back to him. How effortlessly they’d slaughtered his squad of Outriders. No compassion, no feeling, only cold steel and hot blood.

“I don’t recognise any of them,” Saphielle whispered to Yolene, only just loud enough for him to eavesdrop. “He’s probably taken any old thug he could find and stuck them in the armour.”

“Dain Baku would never allow it. The Noonguard are his children.”

“He’s probably too busy leading an army to know who’s being recruited and where they’re being put. If I know the Dain as well as I think I do, he’ll be furious to see what’s become of his regiment.”

The main body of the group had reached them. A thick knot of Noonguard with two figures in the middle. One was a woman with a blindfold around her eyes and a staff in one hand, a Lucin of some sort. The other was unmistakably the king. He was tall with dark hair and darker eyes set back into a pale face mostly covered by his thick beard. He scanned side to side, taking in his subjects. Most were unable to meet his gaze for more than a heartbeat. As King Haradrok swept that steel gaze towards him, Ashuto felt Saphielle back away. He glanced round to find her half crouched behind him, shielding her face with her hand. King Haradrok may have been intimidating, but not enough to make a grown woman cower from fifteen yards. Then he was gone like the oppressive weight of a summer storm. He reached the bottom of the statue and turned to face the thousands of his subjects staring up at him from the nave. His arms came up and the rumble of chatter died completely.

A buzz of excitement energised Ashuto. He’d heard rousing speeches from commanders and captains, but from a king? That was new.

“Get out of the temple,” the king said in a quiet voice that barely carried.

The thrum of voices rose again.

“What did he say?” Ashuto asked over his shoulder. There was no time for a reply.

King Haradrok snatched a helmet from one of the soldiers that flanked him and hurled it down the aisle with a clang. “I said get out of the fucking temple!”

Haradrok

The last of the filthy vermin had been booted through the temple doors. The stench remained but he supposed he could live with that, at a push. The doors were slammed closed and for the first time since he’d left Lendas, he had some peace.

“A fine way to treat your subjects.” Almost had peace. Archlucin Baylor joined him at the base of the statue. It was twice as large as the one in Lendas had been, if not more, and took on a likeness unlike any other depiction. A fiercer face and stronger body, not the soft, kind deity she’d been turned into. This had been a special place for as long as he could remember, ever since his first visit as a child. There had always been an aura here, as if he could feel how close he was to the Ilskini. This time, though, he almost hadn’t made it.

The army had taken longer to summon than it should have. A failing of a minor Dain who hadn’t completed the journey. As it was, they were three days’ march from Brightfont when the news came of the enemy army approaching. He’d taken a small group of Noonguard and every inducted Lucin he had left and rode hard the entire day and into the night. The sight of the Firthenite army surrounding the walls had taken his breath away. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that the sheer number had scared him. The encirclement hadn’t been complete, though, and they’d managed to squeeze through the gap between the two embracing arms of enemy troops before they joined and gripped the city in a stranglehold. The sight of the gate guards’ faces as they realised who it was summoning them had been priceless. There had been a short delay as they hurried to find someone of an appropriate rank to greet him, but they’d been admitted into the city without any further danger. It was at that point the bombardment had commenced.

Another flash of blue lit the Archlucin’s face through the glass dome, casting dark pools of shadow beneath her blindfold.

“They were barely humans. I cannot win us this war with that rabble looking on. No, we need this temple to ourselves.”

“It is the war that is to blame for their plight, which is why it’s imperative we put an end to it for good. Are you sure this will work?”

Haradrok scowled at the Archlucin’s insolence. Not only did she not address him correctly, a sin he would make sure she paid for once her use had expired, she questioned his strategy. His strategy. The man who’d won the Tythelands and expanded Alliquis’ borders more than anyone else in the last hundred years.

“Of course it will work, as long as nobody cocks it up. You know we’ll have a fight on our hands, whatever we do. It could take over a week for word to arrive that the enemy capital has been destroyed. There’s no use us razing it to rubble if we allow the army here to overrun us in the meantime, or indeed if they are able to rally from another location. I will destroy Firthen completely, and once it has finished bleeding, I’ll march in and claim it for Alliquis.”

“A bold aim, Haradrok. How do you intend to achieve it?”

Haradrok ground his teeth. She did it on purpose, he was sure of it. The small bond of understanding they’d kindled in Lendas had eroded on the ride until every tiny thing drove him to anger. The tap of her staff as she walked, how the blindfold moved when she breathed, and most of all, how he never knew what she was thinking. She was as hard to read as the ancient scripts.

“Here is where I’ve not been entirely truthful. It’s not just Tasand I intend to target. Since the start of the war, I’ve had people out gathering samples from every city, town and large village they came across. I’m going to destroy them all.”

Archlucin Baylor gasped and Haradrok allowed himself a smirk. That was exactly the reaction he’d wanted.

“You can’t do that. It won’t only be the enemy you destroy, but the Church too.”

“That’s the thing with war, there’s always collateral.” He batted away the pleading hand the Archlucin raised towards him. “This will happen. At dawn I will launch the first arrow of the end of the war, and here’s the clever part. Every morning we will target a different location, starting with those at the outer reaches of Firthen and working inwards. This will drive them to take shelter in Tasand and then we hit it with every last Lucin. Believe me, Baylor, I will use them all and it will be glorious.”

“No,” she sobbed. “I won’t let you do that.”

“Once again, you have no choice. I will win this war, with your help or not, the only—”

Rapidly approaching footsteps disrupted him mid-sentence. A Noonguard appeared and hesitantly drew nearer.

Haradrok sighed. “What is it, can’t you see I’m busy?”

“Your majesty, Dain Conis and her advisors are here and request an audience.” The Noonguard’s eyes didn’t leave the same spot on the floor the entire time he spoke. Haradrok massaged his temples.

Upon arriving at Brightfont, the captain who’d greeted him at the gate had attempted to take him to the council hall. He’d eagerly informed his king that Dain Conis’ residence was immediately adjacent to the hall, so she could be roused within minutes of his arrival. Instead, Haradrok had demanded to be taken straight to the Simetra’s Temple. He had no inclination to exchange pleasantries with Dain Conis, a pious woman who could give Baylor strong competition on length of time spent praying each day. Part of the reason he’d appointed her Dain of Brightfont when the previous incumbent had died fifteen years ago. The other reason was that she was as boring as watching grass grow and her attendance at his council meetings had taken years off his life through exasperation alone.

“Fine, bring them in.”

He adjusted his crown in another soldier’s mirror-armour and attempted to brush some of the road from his cloak. A bath would be welcome, but not yet. The Dain would have to put up with his somewhat beleaguered appearance for another few hours. Archlucin Baylor hadn’t moved since he’d explained his plan. Her face was now a mask of calm, but he could sense the turmoil churning beneath it.

A few moments later, the messenger returned with Dain Conis and half-a-dozen other well-dressed attendants. The Dain halted a few yards away and dropped into a low curtsey, the fabric of her dress collecting in a heap on the floor. She was as patriotic as she was devout and to another monarch would have made a fine councillor, if only she wasn’t so dull.

“King Haradrok, it is an honour to welcome you into this holiest of cities, even if the times we find ourselves in are challenging. The Goddess of Light and Day blesses every citizen here with your radiant presence.” She stayed almost prostrate as she addressed the Archlucin too. “And Archlucin Baylor, you find at your disposal a most humble servant in the pursuit of holiness. Welcome to Simetra’s own temple, where the power of the Goddess can be felt by her devotees.”

Haradrok seethed inwardly. The insolence of the woman, speaking to Baylor as if she was his equal. Baylor’s lips opened in reply, but he cut her off.

“Conis, your hospitality is appreciated, as is your welcome, but we have important work to prepare for. This discussion will have to wait.”

“It would be remiss of me, your majesty, if I did not offer sustenance and refreshment. As soon as I was informed of your arrival, I bade my kitchen staff to prepare a feast worthy of our king.”

At the mention of food, his stomach growled. It had been a full day since he last ate, and though the threat of immediate battle dampened his appetite, a bite to eat would be appreciated. He looked up through the glass dome where dawn had crept in with the absence of any further bombardment. The Lucins who’d travelled with him were not used to the rigour of hard riding and were exhausted. Attempting the ritual now, with no preparation, would be foolish, and he was anything but that. It would also give Dain Baku time to array the army. He had no doubt his best commander would make short work of the siege and with the planned attacks on Firthen itself, the war would be as good as won.

“A meal is acceptable. I will need a bath drawn for me first, make sure it’s steaming and fragranced.” He turned to the Archlucin. “Ensure the temple remains out of bounds and get everything prepared. You’re lucky, you have a full day.”

He swept past her and Dain Conis and marched down the nave. A suckling pig would be good, or some of those duck pies of which Dain Conis was so fond. Yes, sometimes it paid to treat oneself before the real work could commence.

Saphielle

So, her father really had come. Most people probably thought it a noble gesture from a strong king in touch with his subjects, but she knew the real man behind the crown. He wouldn’t have made the dangerous journey across a country blighted by war unless he had no other choice. Thankfully, he was as absorbed with himself as he’d ever been and failed to notice his own daughter standing less than five feet away.

Early morning sun shone through the dome and landed on the three of them sat on a street corner with hundreds of others. Everyone who’d attempted to take shelter in the temple had been cast back onto the streets, all the refugees and the citizens who’d fled their homes under the Firthenite assault. Most of the latter were able to return, but those who’d fled their hometowns and villages had to make do with doorways and alleys. Thankfully, the explosions appeared to have stopped.

Once they found a space where they wouldn’t be overheard, Saphielle turned to the others. “The longer we stay here, the more chance one of the Noonguard my father brought along recognises me. We have to get out of Brightfont as soon as possible, if not sooner.”

Yolene snorted. “Oh well, that’ll be easy, won’t it? There’s an army out there that won’t exactly let us saunter past, and that’s not to mention getting beyond the walls. Do you think the guards will just open the door and wave you through? You must know what the protocol is. Nobody in, nobody out.”

Saphielle ground her teeth. Military protocol had been drilled into her during her Noonguard training. In a siege situation, you cut off any movement between camps. That way, you kept the spies and saboteurs out and kept in anyone desperate enough to sell themselves to the enemy. All well and good in theory, but the chances of an agent already being in the city were not zero, especially with the number of refugees who’d entered in the weeks prior. That’s what she would have done. Plant a few useful assets ahead of time. It didn’t matter though, protocol was protocol and they were trapped within the walls.

She wrapped a stray lock around her finger as she thought. “We should scope out some of the gates just in case. These walls weren’t built with siege warfare in mind so there might be forgotten ways out. Sally gates or drains. Anything.”

“What about over the wall?” Isak asked.

“It’s an idea. We can’t afford to rule anything out at the moment. I say we split up and investigate every possible avenue. We can divide the city into segments and work our way around. Meet back here at dusk?”

Yolene nodded. “That works.”

“Are you sure we need to split up?” Isak asked. He picked the dry skin around the edge of his thumbnail. Saphielle recognised that sign, Barok had done the same thing whenever he was nervous. Usually when their father summoned him out of the blue.

“It’s going to be fine. We’ll cover more ground this way and be out of here quicker. I know it’s scary, but there’s nothing any of us can do about that. All we can do is focus on the things in our control, like finding a way out. You’ve still got that dagger, right?”

Isak nodded and tapped his hip.

“Good. Tell you what, you go back to the gate we came in through, at least you’ll have an idea of where you are and you won’t get lost. Yol, are you happy to go northeast? I’ll take the south. Hopefully by this evening we’ll have given the whole wall a look over.

“There’s one more thing. We’re going to need supplies if we want to have a hope of making it up the mountain. Yol, can you get us food? Isak, we’ll need warm coats. I don’t know where you’ll get them, but keep an eye out. I’ll find anything else we’ll require. Everyone on board?”

Yolene rose and made to leave. “The quicker we get going, the more time we’ll have.”

Saphielle’s hand darted out and grabbed her arm, pale skin on dark. “Thank you for trusting me. I’d be lost if I didn’t have you to rely on.”

Yolene’s pursed lips spread into a smile and she squeezed Saphielle’s hand in reply. Then she slipped free and was gone down the alley.

“And you, are you ready?” she asked Isak. The skin on his thumb was red and raw and there was a streak of blood on his knuckle where he’d wiped it away from the torn cuticle.

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Good lad. Remember, once the sun touches the top of the wall, head back here and we’ll meet up again to discuss what we found.” She w pointed at the city wall and mimed the arc of the sun.

“I won’t forget.” Isak brushed himself down, checked the knife again, and headed off in the same direction Yolene had gone. That left her alone in a sea of faces. For a moment she looked over them. The features were different but they all looked the same. Scared, anxious, worried, and who could blame them? Maybe she should have been more afraid but the terror of the assault and the inevitable siege that was to follow held little fear, not compared to what would happen if she couldn’t find a way out of Brightfont. She squared her shoulders and carved a path south.

It was a part of the city she hadn’t seen yet. So far, Brightfont had been a clean, pleasant place, despite how crowded it was. The buildings were well cared for and the streets free of rubbish and debris. Little squares and gardens like the one they’d stopped in the night before punctuated the streets, markets popped up on myriad corners. All of that was missing from the south of the city. Half a mile from the temple, the streets narrowed and the atmosphere changed, closing around her, becoming heavier. A few streets further and she came across a physical boundary, a ramshackle wooden arch between two densely-packed buildings.

A sign hung from the arch and daubed on it in crude letters of pitch was the word ‘Wit-rot’. She stopped dead in front of it.

Wit-rot. A name synonymous with the start of her troubles with her father. The very disease that had taken her mother from her, but before it had done that, it had stripped every last bit of the strong, happy, funny woman she’d been before contracting it. It was a cruel disease. Some said the cruellest, because it ate the memories of those unlucky enough to catch it. It started with little things, like being unable to remember words, where they’d put something down or why they came into a room. By the end, you were unable to eat or speak. Death followed that stage soon after. What the physicians never told her was that she’d lose her father as well as her mother. Torn away by grief, broken down and reforged as an uncaring, unfeeling bastard of a man.

She blinked and was surprised to find a tear roll down her cheek. She’d cried an ocean of tears but considered that well long dry. She hesitated beneath the arch. It was the quickest route to the wall, but it meant walking through the heart of the conclave. A deep breath filled her lungs with air and pushed her chest out. She’d fought scores of Firthenites, faced a giant bear and was doing all she could to defeat an ancient God-creature, surely she could manage a short walk? A shiver wracked her body as she passed under the archway, but she was in.

A Lucin with the blue sash of the healing order tapped their staff along the ground, disappearing around a corner and leaving the street deserted. She hurried on, not quite running, but Isak would have struggled to keep up. It was funny how her mind went to him. Still practically a boy, out on his own with no one except her to look out for him the way Barok had looked out for her. Most of Yolene’s resistance came from suspicion, but Saphielle expected at least a part of it was down to jealousy that she wasn’t the only one Saphielle had to talk to.

“You shouldn’t be here, young lady.”

She leapt backwards, heart racing in the blink of an eye. A blond man with a handsome face and striking blue eyes sat in a chair placed in the open doorway of one of the houses. He could only have been in his thirties.

“I’m only passing through,” she replied in a shaky voice. She swore inwardly at that display of fear.

“It’s not safe for someone like you to wander through here on your own. Most residents are harmless but there are some who might startle and lash out if you approach them. Let me escort you through.”

Saphielle backed up and she found her hand drifting to a knife at her belt. “Why are you here, if it’s so dangerous?”

The man laughed and she frowned at his response. “Why do you think I’m here? It’s certainly not for a holiday.”

The realisation dawned on her slowly. “Oh, you’re… you’ve…”

“I have indeed. I’ve not had it for long, and I could quite happily live a normal life for another few years, but I’ve dedicated my last ten years to looking for a cure and thought I might as well use the time I have left to work closer with those affected. No one else will dare.”

A spark flared in her mind and lit a memory of blue eyes and gentle hands attending to her mother in her last days. “I think I’ve met you before, you treated my mother when–” Her hand flew to her mouth, but she’d already said too much.

“Your mother? No, it can’t be, but you were only a strip of a girl when I saw you last. Princept Saphielle?”

“Not so loudly. Look, can you get me through here or not?”

“I’m sure I can manage that, but only if you tell me how we’ve ended up in this Goddess-forsaken war.” He looked serious for a moment, then broke a smile that Saphielle couldn’t help but return.

“It’s a deal. You have me at a disadvantage, though, in that you remember my name.”

“Maybe it’s you who should be living here and not I. My name is Copelthalmus, but most just call me Cop. If you ask me again before we part, then I might start getting worried about you.” He pushed himself out of his chair and held out a well-toned arm. Saphielle didn’t mean to hesitate, but the pause was clearly long enough for Cop to notice.

“It’s not contagious, you know, despite what people say. You can’t get it off me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I know that, sorry. The rumours I heard when ma was ill were terrible, but I know they aren’t true.” She grabbed Cop’s arm and was immediately grateful of the human contact. In spite of the truth, you could have filled an entire library with the lies that swirled around Wit-rot. Cop led her along the street, pointing out little details he thought she’d find interesting. There was a faded comfort to the place. Here and there, flowers grown in window boxes injected a splash of colour to the otherwise grey surroundings. They passed a shoulder-high wall that bordered a small courtyard. A name had been scratched over and over again into the stone. The etching started strongly – Barnus – but by the end of the wall it was barely recognisable as a word. The more she saw, the more she realised there was nothing to be afraid of. There was only one thing missing.

“Where is everyone else?”

“The Village – that’s what us residents call our little conclave – is often half empty. People come here from all over the country in the hope that Simetra’s grace will heal them. Well, that’s what the pious amongst us think. The rest, like me, know this is the only place we can be treated properly. Sure, some sufferers have families who can look after them. Some sufferers are married to the king and can afford to pay the best healers to tend to them, but there are many, many more who are cast out and abandoned. They make their way here, if they still can. The Village used to be nicer. The buildings were limewashed and there were gardens like the rest of Brightfont, but over the past decade, the king’s taxes have squeezed the Church’s pockets so that there’s precious little left to look after folks here. It’s all the Lucins can do to feed and water us.”

“Wouldn’t it be better if you all lived in one big lodge or something?”

“Ah, but that’s where the Village is so clever. Look closer. There are some houses, like mine, that are separate, which gives those of us with most of our faculties still remaining a bit of privacy and normality. The rest, though, are designed to look like individual dwellings, but in reality they’re connected on the inside, so the Lucins can get between patients easier. This was meant to be a dignified solution to caring for us that have contracted the disease. Now it’s just a dumping ground where the few Lucins who still care do their best to make our passing comfortable. But enough negativity, what brings the Princept of Alliquis to my domain?”

“That, too, is an interesting story, just not one I’m able to tell you. All I can say is that this war isn’t the worst thing on the horizon, and it’s that which I’m trying to prevent.”

“Oh fantastic, a heroic struggle. You know, I rather like a good tale, but what does your quest have to do with the Village?”

“Nothing, to be honest. I need to get out of the city, but with the enemy surrounding us, there’s no easy way. Through the Village was the quickest way to the wall.”

Cop smiled. “I see. I’m a means to an end.” Saphielle started to protest but he stopped her with a gesture. “I’m quite happy to assist you, my Princept. This has been the most scintillating conversation I’ve had in a long time. I used to converse with the greatest medical minds in Alliquis. Now I’m lucky if I can get five consecutive sentences out of somebody. I only ask one thing in return.”

“You’ve already asked me to tell you about the start of this war.”

“That is indeed true, but you won’t begrudge an ill man another tiny request. Let me accompany you to the wall and we can search for a way out together. Two pairs of eyes are better than one, after all.”

“I can’t have the people thinking I’m not a generous Princept. Your request is granted.” They both grinned.

The route through the Village was straightforward with someone who knew the streets. If she’d had to navigate it by herself, however, she’d probably have been in there all morning. The other end of the Village was marked by another weathered sign. Flakes of coloured paint still clung stubbornly to the edges of the silvered wood.

“Your journey through my realm is complete, and as you can see, the city wall lies not two hundred paces hence.” The wall did indeed loom above the smattering of dilapidated buildings outside the Village.

“What’s this place? It looks even worse than in there.”

“This is where the truly unfortunate live. Who else would choose to live wedged between a Wit-rot colony and a hulking great wall? No, those that call here home don’t have even a Lucin to care for them. Come, the city guard keep a pathway clear around the base of the wall, we can use that.”

They reached the bottom of the wall moments later. The brilliant white of the stone had turned grey with dirt and grime. Here and there, a few patches were cleaner, as if someone had attempted to wash it but quickly thought better of it. Soldiers stood at strict intervals on the battlements, but they were only concerned with what was happening beyond rather than beneath their feet.

“So what exactly are we looking for?” Cop asked.

“Any way out that won’t kill me. I’m desperate enough to consider jumping off the wall, if I could do it without breaking every bone in my body.” Something dashed out from a patch of ivy climbing the wall and she yelped, only to find a rat scurrying away down the street.

“If only you were that small, they’ll have tunnels running under the walls in a hundred different places.”

Saphielle laughed and readjusted the bow on her back. She was about to reply when a horn blasted nearby, its discordant call quickly picked up by others.

An officer on the wall yelled over the noise of the horns. “They’re storming the wall! Stand firm, we knew this was coming.”

Bells had joined the alarm too, creating a blaring, clanging headache of a warning. There was nobody in the city who wouldn’t know what was happening.

“If they thought the enemy would attack the walls, why aren’t there more troops?” Saphielle asked over the din. It was pure madness not to have the right numbers in place, especially if the commanders knew what was coming.

“This is a city of religion, a city of peace. We never had any need for more than a token force of city guards. It’s been bolstered recently, but still far smaller than a city of this size would need to put up troops where you think they should be.”

A red flag strained against the cord as it was hoisted into the air atop the nearest guard tower.

Saphielle knew what it meant immediately. “The assault is happening here.”

“So it would seem.”

Saphielle

A blue explosion shattered the sky overhead, swiftly followed by another, and another. The loudest, closest horn fell silent and the battlement was suddenly busy with soldiers. They arrayed themselves in a sloppy line, not one that would have passed muster with the Noonguard, but right then that didn’t matter. Many had bows and there were also long spears and prods with forked ends to latch onto enemy siege ladders and push them away from the wall.

There was a bright flash directly in Saphielle’s field of vision and all she could see was a yellow blob seared into her sight. Slowly she blinked it away. When she could see again, the line of soldiers was splintered and reeling.

“I should be up there,” she said through clenched teeth.

“And what good would that do?” Cop asked.

“I can fight better than anyone up there. We need to repel the enemy.”

“I’ve no doubt you’re highly proficient in the art of filling people with metal until they die, but don’t you have a more important task? One that will be very hard to do if you’re dead.”

“I won’t get the chance if the enemy breach the walls and overrun the city. I imagine compassion is in short supply.”

“We’re about to find out, look.” Cop pointed to a gap in the line where the top of a ladder was swung into position. Fierce metal claws on the top of the ladder swung forward and latched onto the crenelations.

“Numbers on me!” yelled the officer, a sergeant. The fractured line closed up again and the dark slash of arrows arced through the air, some aimed down, some at more distant targets. Before she knew what she was doing, Saphielle had Simetra’s bow strung. Cop grabbed her arm and shook his head. There was a collective grunt from above as the soldiers heaved on the prod, aiming to send the ladder and anyone climbing it plummeting back to the ground. They cheered as the hooks were cast off and the ladder fell away. The screams of the climbing soldiers were impossible to ignore.

“We shouldn’t be here,” Cop insisted. “Leave the fighting to those who’re paid for it.”

“I can’t stand by and watch as my people die.”

A blast of light exploded over the wall and a handful of guards were thrown back off the rampart to land in a twisted heap a dozen yards away. The line of soldiers had been thrown in disarray and two more ladders hit the wall as they reoriented themselves.

“Where are the prods?” the sergeant barked. Saphielle glanced at the bodies that had fallen. A wooden shaft stuck out of one where the unfortunate corpse had landed on the end of it. There was one, out of action. The other had flown further in the blast and rested against one of the abandoned buildings.

She broke free of Cop’s grasp and sprinted towards it. She slung the bow over her shoulder and snatched up the prod. Despite having a strong arm when it came to spear-throwing, the wall was too high for her to hurl it up, and anyway, the soldiers were so busy trying to keep the enemy from climbing over that they wouldn’t have seen it. She ran for the steps, hurdling over the broken bodies and taking the stairs three at a time.

The first enemy head appeared above the parapet as she made it onto the rampart. They wore a black helmet covered in spines and the only part of their face visible were their eyes. Woman or man, it was impossible to tell, but it didn’t matter. All that counted was that this invader wanted to kill as many of her people as they could. A spear took the climber through their eye slot and they screamed before falling away.

Respite lasted all of a heartbeat as another helmet took their place. A third ladder hit the wall and its claws landed with a heavy clang. This one already had a soldier in place at the top, an enormous figure armed with an axe larger than her chest. While the Alliquean soldiers’ attention was held by the enemy coming up the first two ladders, they failed to notice the mountain in black armour jump onto the walkway.

Saphielle shouted a wordless warning, but it was too late. The axe came down and cleaved a guard from shoulder to sternum. That, at last, alerted the soldiers to the hulk’s presence. She pressed on into the crush of bodies fighting for control of the wall. A second swipe of the axe hurled another guard off the top and suddenly their numbers looked thin, eight men and women against the might of the Firthenite army.

“Where the fuck are those reinforcements?” the sergeant growled, then glared at Saphielle. “And who the fuck are you?”

“Someone who can use a bow and a sword, and it looks like you’re in need of as many of those as you can get. I’ll take the big bastard, you get those bloody things off the wall.”

The sergeant nodded and turned back to the ladders, leaving Saphielle one on one with the giant Firthenite. The soldier pulled off their helmet to reveal a face as dark as Yolene’s with hard features and eyes like chips of flint. There was no compassion in those eyes and she didn’t expect any. This was war after all. Without taking her eyes off the man-mountain, she drew her sword and snapped forward from her crouch, thrusting with the prod at the man’s face. He swatted it away nonchalantly. The axe must have weighed almost as much as her, yet her opponent wielded it as if it were carved from pine. He swiped at her and she danced back. Already her mouth was dry and palms sweaty. On an open field without anything to obstruct her, she had the agility to get around the Firthenite’s attacks, but up here, with bodies strewn across the ground and barely three feet either side of her, the advantage was all his.

She jabbed again with the prod, aiming for his eyes but a jerk of the axe cleaved the shaft in two and left it useless in her hand. She hurled it at him and it bounced harmlessly off his spiked shoulder plate.

“Little girls have no place here,” he rumbled. “Run home to Mummy and let people who have already weaned kill each other.”

“I’ll send your soul to Caenyss,” she spat back. Her sword was tiny compared to his axe, but it was all she had. Actually, that wasn’t true. Beyond the Firthenite lay the body of an archer. Their hip quiver had fallen off in death and the arrows were scattered across the stone. Some had been trodden on and broken, but she only needed one.

First, though, she had to get past the slab of muscle and steel before her. Thankfully, no one else had yet followed him up the ladder. No doubt waiting for him to clear the way. He hacked at her and she stepped back and back until she hit the shoulder of one of the guards attempting to dislodge the ladder.

Her opponent’s lip twitched, the closest he’d come to any sort of emotion.

She smiled back, sheathing her sword, and his eyebrows lifted. Now that was more like it. Get his brain working and suddenly he didn’t know what to do. As she’d hoped, he reverted to form and brought the axe whistling down towards her head.

Had it connected, it would have cut her clean in half, but it didn’t. She slid to one side and grabbed onto the axe haft. When he drew the axe back, she went with it.

In that moment of confusion, she dropped to the floor in line with his knees, rolled, and kicked out at the back of the joint. His legs buckled and he stumbled forwards. With the extra time and space, Saphielle unslung the bow and grabbed one of the discarded arrows. The Firthenite spun slowly. She’d seen better turning circles on a horse-drawn wagon, but every heartbeat extra played to her favour.

She nocked the arrow and drew it back until her finger touched the corner of her mouth and the fletching tickled her cheek. The big bastard’s eyes widened at the sight of a bodkin arrow pointed at him. Still, it was by no means an easy kill. The man’s plate armour would do a good job at deflecting the arrow, even at this distance. At least he’d had the misfortune to remove his helmet, otherwise it would be like loosing at a wall.

She released her grip on the string and the arrow flew straight. In a blink it protruded from his eye socket.

His remaining eye turned inwards to look at the length of ash, then he toppled backwards.

The city guards had pushed one of the ladders back down and looked to be winning the skirmish for the other. Three Firthenites fought back-to-back on the wall in front of the ladder, desperately trying to establish a foothold. The sergeant thrust her sword at the closest of them and the Firthenite collapsed with a wound in his chest.

“Saphielle, behind you!”

Cop’s warning reached her just in time. Half a dozen soldiers had scaled the giant’s ladder and created a formation of black steel that she alone would never be able to break. She stood there with just her bow, heart hammering and her breaths coming deep and ragged. Her mouth felt like it was full of sand and there was a throbbing pain in her thigh. A glance down showed a gash she hadn’t realised she’d taken. The leg of her trousers was dark with her own blood.

As one, the Firthenites advanced with their weapons glinting malevolently.

There was a strangled cry behind her. She glanced back to see the sergeant holding the tip of a sword that had burst through her stomach from behind. With the death of their leader, the last of the city guards faltered and ran, along the wall as fast as they could away from the point of attack.

It had felt like half a day, but there had probably been only a few minutes between the red flag being raised and the guards fleeing. Even now, another two ladders hit the top of the wall with black-helmeted soldiers ready to throw themselves into the fray, except there wasn’t a fray.

Only her.

“Reinforcements are coming, get out of there,” Cop yelled from halfway up the stairs.

Sure enough, a hundred or so soldiers were sprinting along the street towards them. Saphielle wanted to do as Cop said, but even that half a minute would allow the Firthenites to claim the wall and that could mean losing the entire city. There was only one thing she could do. She pulled the flamestone arrowhead out with her spare hand and gripped it tightly, praying that she could recreate what she’d done to Dain Forbes in Forest Edge. Every muscle tensed and she had the uncomfortable feeling that she might squeeze something unpleasant out, but there was no light. There was nothing. The rattle of armour on stone told her more attackers had appeared behind her.

“Come on then, you bastards.” She had nothing to fight with, but that didn’t matter. All she needed to do was keep them busy until the squad of soldiers arrived. The edges of the arrowhead dug into her palm. Was she being foolish? If she died here, it wouldn’t matter for long what happened or who controlled the city, but that would be of little comfort to those slaughtered by the Firthenites in the meantime. For the first time since she’d had to abandon Barok, she didn’t know what to do. She turned from the wall of armour to those who’d appeared behind her.

Another half a dozen heavily-clad soldiers and a Firthenite Noxum. The Noxum’s right arm glowed blue beneath her exposed skin and in her other hand she held a shard of dull crystal.

Arms wrapped around Saphielle’s waist and dragged her back. A scream ripped from her throat as the unseen assailant pulled her off balance.

“Do you want to live or not?” Cop’s voice hissed in her ear. Wiry muscles stood out along his forearms. She squirmed and fought, but the man was stronger than she gave him credit for.

“Let go, I need to stop them.” He wrestled her halfway down the stairs.

“You stupid girl. Don’t you see? You have everything to live for, everything.” She tried to dig her heels in, but the bare stone gave her no purchase. “Do you know what I wouldn’t give to be in your position again? What I wouldn’t give to have my life before me again?“ He’d dragged her back to street level. The Firthenites hadn’t followed them, but they were all staring. A glance to the side told her the incoming troops were only a hundred yards away. A handful more invaders had scaled the ladders onto the wall, but nowhere near the scores she’d been fearful of. Perhaps her sacrifice wasn’t needed after all. She stopped struggling and allowed Cop to release her.

“I’m sorry. I thought it was the only way.”

“Do not consider your own life so cheap a bargaining chip to throw away for something as inconsequential as this. Don’t cheapen my existence and my struggle with your selfishness. Do you know the worst thing about this disease? It’s the knowing. Knowing that whatever you do, it won’t stop your own body betraying you. Knowing that everything that makes me unique is rotting. That nothing I can do will change that. But it gives me perspective. It taught me that life is precious and should be grasped onto with every fibre of your being. Make the most of every moment, because life is cruel and you’re never sure which one will be your last. All of us die, Princept, and all we can do is choose the manner of our passing, so don’t throw something so valuable away on a whim.”

Steel clattered on stone and they snapped their heads around to look at the stairs. Two enemy soldiers had broken away from the main group, which was still growing as more troops scaled the ladders, and were advancing down the steps towards them, black-steel swords drawn and wicked sharp. Saphielle groaned and slung the bow over her back. Her hand went to her hilt.

“No,” the Noxum barked at the breakaway Firthenites, “I will deal with them.” The blue charge of light under her skin pulsed and wormed down her arm towards her outstretched hand. An image of a soldier falling in the dark from the wall with a bright blue explosion behind him flashed in her mind. She grabbed Cop’s hand, ignoring the burning in her leg.

“We need to run.”

He looked confused for a moment, then noticed the Noxum. “You said it.”

Strength surged through her legs. They fled for the relative safety of the dilapidated houses, feet pounding on the ground. They were twenty feet from a narrow street which would have provided sufficient cover when something bright and cold flashed past her head.

It hit the paving a few inches in front of them and erupted in a hail of stone chips and a rush of cold air. Her feet left the ground as the explosion picked her up and threw her against a wall.

Stone met skull with a thud. Blue dots burst across her vision and she slumped against the wall’s base. Thoughts came as if through water. The specifics of what had just happened were slow to form, all she knew was that everything hurt. There was a scream from atop the wall and she turned her head to look, fighting against the screaming agony in her neck. It could move, so she knew it wasn’t broken, but a small part of her thought it might be anyway, in contradiction to everything she’d been taught about battlefield injuries.

The two sides had met on the rampart, and though the Firthenites fought fiercely, they were up against superior numbers despite the warriors appearing in threes over the wall. A group of guards armed with bows leant over the wall from a distance and loosed arrows, presumably at those scaling the ladders. A grin spread across her face and she looked for Cop. The smile died when she saw him lying motionless in the middle of the junction between the street and the wall.

She staggered up and stumbled over to him. Blood stained his shirt a thick red and pooled beneath him from the wound in his abdomen.

“Cop, stay with me, you’re going to be alright.”

The man’s eyes fluttered open and he curled his fingers around hers. “We both know I’m not.”

“You can’t die now. I’ve only just started to get to know you.” Tears ran unashamedly down her face and dropped off her chin.

The corners of Cop’s lips twitched upwards. “Remember what I’ve told you. Now go well, Princept Saphielle, and bring light to the world.” His grip weakened, his breath fluttered and his eyelids sank for the last time. Cop’s body slumped in her arms.

Ashuto

By mid-afternoon, Ashuto had walked along the wall and back twice, and unless the three of them managed to sprout wings and fly, there was no way out. His shirt stuck to his chest and his feet ached despite all the miles he’d put behind him. He kicked a rock which bounced off a wall and narrowly missed a ginger cat preening itself in a pool of sunlight. The animal hissed at him and padded away.

One of the others must have had more luck. Though, maybe this was the best situation to find himself in. If they couldn’t leave the city, then Saphielle couldn’t interfere with the Great Wyrm’s plans and he wouldn’t have to kill her. The feel of the knife sliding so effortlessly into Dain Forbes’ neck made his skin itch and he hadn’t even known the man. It would be a thousand times worse to harm a friend. He should never have let it become personal. It was a stupid idea and he’d known it from the start, but what else could he have done? They’d have left him alone in the Blackmire if he’d said anything different, or, if Yolene had her way, gutted him right there.

Checking the wall was only one half of the task. There were still coats to procure and no matter what transpired he’d be grateful for the warmth. The winters in Crayford were bad enough. He dreaded to think how biting the cold would be up in the mountains. It was funny, he’d looked at the peaks thousands of times, but not once had he considered how cold they must be. Back home, he would have gone to Stenius for furs. Here, though, he had no idea. He didn’t even know if he could get some, and the markets were unlikely to be doing a roaring trade.

It turned out that some of the city’s markets, the less salubrious ones anyway, were open and pulling in punters by the score. It also transpired that what had cost three copper coins yesterday cost six today, but that didn’t appear to put people off as there was every chance it would cost twelve tomorrow

“Good afternoon,” he said to a particularly thuggish stallholder. The man grunted and Ashuto took that as a sign to continue. “Do you know anyone who sells heavy cloaks or furs?”

“Why, planning on going somewhere?” There was a lack of spark in the man’s eyes, and they were positioned too close together. He made the pigs back in Crayford look more intelligent.

“Um, no. I just have a feeling it’s going to get cold soon.

“Listen to this, Therin, ‘e thinks ‘e can predict the weather.” The man called to an equally brutish man behind the neighbouring stall. “Says ‘e wants furs ‘case it gets cold.

“Reckons ‘e’s a little Dainling, does ‘e? This ain’t no tailor’s market. You’re just gonna have to manage like the rest of us.

“I’m willing to pay,” Ashuto protested, but this only earned him a bout of guffawing from the two stallholders

“Get outta here,” Therin said. “Go an’ pester someone else for your furs.”

Ashuto backed away from them, utterly confused by the whole interaction. It wasn’t as if he’d demanded them for free. All he’d done was ask where he could find some to buy. Just when he thought he was getting to grips with the average Alliquean, something like this happened and made him think again.

He began his return trip to the meeting point with several hours to go until dusk when he noticed the family Saphielle had helped on the way into the city. They sat together beneath a tree in one of the many small squares rolling dice carved from bone or antler. For a family with nothing but the clothes they carried, they looked happy. Though it had driven them from their home, the threat of true battle was an abstraction to them. However, something caught his eye. In a bundle next to them, the sleeve of a fur-lined coat poked out.

“Excuse me,” he started. Five faces turned to him. The woman’s, as before, was a mask of fear and the two men regarded him with caution. The children, on the other hand, a boy and a girl, neither older than six, beamed at him with grubby faces.

“I recognise you,” the older of the men said. “You were with the woman who helped us the other day. That’s the only kind thing anyone has done for us since we arrived. How can we return the favour?”

Ashuto pointed to the bundle. “Your coats, I was wondering if I could buy them off you.” Something tugged at his trouser leg and he looked down to see the little girl grinning, her teeth gleaming white amidst the dirt smearing her skin. She held up one of the bone dice.

“Our coats, you say?” her father mused. “What makes you think you need them more than us?”

“Please. Saphielle – the woman who helped you – and I need to leave the city and I can’t find anywhere that will sell us coats of our own. You shouldn’t need such thick coats here.” There was another pull on his trousers and a small hand appeared in his view clutching the dice.

The man raised an eyebrow. “Is that right? And I suppose you will where you’re going?”

Ashuto nodded and couldn’t help but glance towards the mountains. “I can reimburse you for them, look.” He jingled the coin purse which, despite the extortionate cost of food, still held a good number of coins.

“Play with us,” the girl chirped, finally bored of being ignored by the stranger.

“That is a fine idea, Eve. I’ll tell you what, young man, you play a game of dice with us. If you win, you can have the coats. If you don’t, well, you’ll be disappointed but you’ll have kept Eve and Hans entertained for a short while. How does that sound?”

“You’re on.” Eve and Hans cheered as Ashuto took his seat in the circle. “What’re we playing?”

“I thought we’d have a friendly game of sevens. My name is Dart, by the way, this is my sister, Shaze, and Haruman, our brother.” Dart gathered the six dice and rolled them as Haruman nodded a greeting. “Hmm.” He picked out three of the dice and shook his head before picking them up again.

“It’s funny, how you hope for one thing and get the complete other. Here, I was hoping for a perfect score but got my worst hand of the day, just as I remember me saying when we met you before, how we should have been safer here than in Lendas and yet it’s the opposite that’s true.” The rattle of dice on stone accompanied his words.

“That’s a good one, Pa,” Hans said.

“Indeed it is,” Dart replied, taking out two dice and leaving the rest in the middle of the circle. “There, three sixes and a four. You have to beat a score of twenty-two to win your coats, but remember, you’ve only got two attempts. Feeling lucky?”

Ashuto took the pile of dice, feeling the opposite of lucky, and shook them in his cupped hands. They rattled pleasingly between his palms. Blowing on them once for luck, he rolled the dice into the centre of the circle.

“Hmm, not bad,” Dart said, “but not good enough.” His hand flicked out and removed any dice that added to seven leaving just two left. Five and four. Ashuto collected the dice again and reached a hand into his pocket where the Great Wyrm’s scale always was, a permanent reminder.

“He’s not very good, is he, Pa?” Hans said.

“Quite now, lad. A man’s worth isn’t determined by the roll of a dice, though his fate may be. Let’s see what he gets in the next hand.”

Ashuto ignored the chatter and funnelled all his will, desire and any dregs of the Wyrm’s power into the dice. Another blow, long and slow into the hole between his cupped palms, and he sent the dice clacking to the stone. Before the final dice even stopped spinning Dart let out an exclamation.

“Ah, this is close, though we appear to have lost one.” The spinning dice had disappeared under Eve’s leg. Dart and Ashuto leant over the still dice. There were three sixes face-up and no ones, giving him a score of eighteen at least. The faces of the other two dice showed a five and a three. At that moment, with the number on the final dice yet to be known, he was winning. Ashuto’s heart pounded harder than when he was running from the bear and he couldn’t work out why. After all, his life was safe, for now at least. If he lost, all that would happen was he’d leave this happy family circle with exactly the same as he’d arrived with, minus a modicum of pride. Yet there was more riding on it, not least their safety in the mountains. It would save him another bloody, soul-breaking task if Saphielle froze to death on the peaks, but he wanted to live to see in the Great Wyrm’s new era, and he couldn’t do that if he froze alongside the Princept. He could always find someone else to buy the furs off, Dart and his kin weren’t the only ones in Brightfont, and though he’d have to find them, Ashuto was sure he could do it even in the limited time he had left, despite the approaching onset of dusk. If he had nothing to lose, why was his breath catching in his throat? Did Saphielle’s approval really mean that much to him?

Dart moved his daughter’s leg to reveal the final dice. If it was a one or a two, he’d lost. Anything else and he’d win the game and the furs. Four chances in six. He had to win, he had–

“A two, I’m afraid.” Sure enough, two burnt-black dots looked back up at him like the eyes of a Skrynia. He deflated like a punctured waterskin. Hans and Eve cheered at their father’s victory.

“Not to worry, boy,” Haruman said. He shared Dart’s chin and eyes but his nose was flat where his brother’s was long and crooked. “You’ll get what you need eventually, I’m sure.”

Ashuto stood up and his knee cracked from having sat with crossed legs. “I won’t bother you any longer,” he said with a sigh.

Dart clapped him on the back. “You take care now, and thank you for giving the little ones some excitement.”

Dusk was rapidly approaching and Ashuto knew he’d blown his only chance of procuring something warm. Either they’d have to make do without them, which sounded like a terrible plan, or wait another day to see if they could find more. Knowing Saphielle, the latter option was out of the question.

“Wait,” came a woman’s voice. Shaze appeared behind him with the coats bundled in her arms. “Your friend was kind to me before, it’s only fair we repay the favour.”

“Thank you.” Ashuto grinned and took the furs from the woman’s bony arms. Behind her, Dart winked at him and he nodded back.

There was a reason the huge dying vats were kept to the outskirts of the city. They filled the air with an acrid stench that brought a tear to his eye, and here he was, walking past them again. He’d considered taking a longer route around, but he barely knew the city and getting lost wasn’t part of the plan, especially not with dusk soon approaching, so he did his best to breathe through his mouth and quickened his step.

Bolts of fabric leant against the walls in every colour he could imagine – deep purple to wine red to the brightness of a yellowhammer – and dozens of people still perused them. What use could they have for such things in a time like this? Anything to forget about the army beyond the walls, perhaps. A merchant raised a hand to him.

“Come and look, we have everything you need.”

Ashuto shook his head and averted his eyes. No distractions. Get back to the temple and reconvene with the others.

A voice boomed in his head loud enough to rattle his teeth.

“Speak with me.”

His thigh erupted into agony and he gasped, dropping the coats. He pressed a hand to his leg, half expecting to find blood, but he felt nothing but the Great Wyrm’s token, cold as midwinter ice, at the epicentre of the pain. Gathering the fallen furs, he waved away the few people who’d shown concern and continued down the street, every step sending daggers of pain through his body.

“I can’t, not here,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Now.” The command was accompanied by the searing burn of bare skin on ice. There was no choice. He squeezed the coats tighter against the pain and hobbled into the nearest alleyway. If he had to speak to the Great Wyrm, he couldn’t do it out in the open. The alley was a dead end, littered with rubbish. A bottle clinked as he nudged it with his boot and there was something down there that smelled worse than the dying vats. A pile of empty crates teetered near the end and he crouched behind them, out of sight of the street.

The scale seeped frozen mist as he fumbled it from his pocket and the chill spread to his fingers.

“Champion, I am growing concerned at your progress. Simetra’s dog is still alive, their stench is sickening to me, you must find them and eliminate them.”

The Great Wyrm’s voice rumbled inside his skull and, for the first time, Ashuto was afraid. Did the Great Wyrm know he had spent the last month with Simetra’s champion? He pushed the thought away in case the creature could read his thoughts.

“I know they’re here, I felt them with the third charge and I thought I identified the correct individual. Unfortunately, I was wrong and the champion is still abroad.

““Hmmm, your judgement leaves much to be desired, but your loyalty is still to me. Tonight is the night to funnel a splinter of my power back into my token. You must use it wisely to hunt Simetra’s champion, there will not be another opportunity.”

“How do I conduct this ritual?”

“The ritual cannot be performed here. I will direct you to an appropriate location, though the time is not yet right. How I would love to desecrate Simetra’s holiest site, but even now, the power contained within its walls is too strong for me. Instead, there’s another seat of power in the city, the Dain’s Court I believe they call it. “

“The Dain’s Court?” Saphielle had mentioned it. Dain Conis’ residence and, now by extension, King Haradrok’s. Sure to be heavily guarded. “Is that wise?”

“You dare question me? You overstep your role in this arrangement. Go where I command, or your use to me shall be at an end and you will suffer like the rest of them. Go there and wait for dark. I shall provide further instructions when all is set.”

The mist ceased and his mind was his own again. He glanced up. Dusk was no more than a couple of hours away, but the Great Wyrm said the ritual required darkness. If he returned to the temple, he’d never be able to slip away again. The only choice was to wait for night, perform the ritual and meet Saphielle and Yolene with an excuse as to why he was so late. Not perfect, but it would have to do.

“I knew it.”

He started and fell back. In the mouth of the alleyway stood a figure, fists clenched and fury written across her features.

Pel

When Rawl’s voice finally cracked and he paused to take a sip of precious water, the Sanctuary had long since slid into obscurity behind us. The one benefit of not having to drag anything around was that we’d made a good pace, even with Rawl and his dodgy knees.

“We’ll reach the final Sanctuary before Brightfont just before nightfall if we continue at this rate,” Harunath said from the front.

Harunath’s announcement raised a number of smiles. There’d been no more dissent since that morning and the only signs of discontent had been the odd grumble. It was about time something went our way.

The Hunters had taken their usual positions around the perimeter and kept a close eye on proceedings. Without Rawl’s story to focus on, I had a moment to take in our surroundings. As usual, the vast landscape was white with a thick covering of hard-packed snow that reached all horizons. Rawl had said that Brightfont was built on a great plain and I figured we were now there, or at least what it had become, a seemingly never-ending expanse of snow. The only feature of interest was an arch of ice rising to the height of a Snowbrute a hundred yards away.

“What’s that?” Michela asked, taking the question right out of my mouth.

“They call it the Ilskini Gate. If the Goddesses and Gods are to come back, it’s said they will return through this archway,” Harunath said.

Rawl scoffed. “Fat chance of that happening.”

“I want to go see it.” The little girl tugged her mother’s hand. “Please can I go and see it?”

The warden shrugged. “It barely takes us out of our way, but parts of this terrain can be dangerous, or more dangerous than normal. You have to stay close to us, Michela, you understand?”

“Thank you, I’ll keep close, I promise.” The smile that lit up her face was the most beautiful thing I’d seen in days.

“Good girl, we’ll be there soon, then on to the Sanctuary well before nightfall if we keep this pace up.”

Michela bounded ahead of us as we changed direction slightly west to come upon the Ilskini Gate. The Hunters in the perimeter tried to look disinterested but I noticed Orbur – splint already gone from her leg – and others checking the girl was safe. Orbur even stuck her tongue out once, the moment of light-heartedness not sitting well with her outward appearance. By the time we were twenty yards away, Michela couldn’t keep a rein on her excitement. She broke into a run, dodging around Lasarusa, her little legs pounding the snow towards the gate.

“Be careful,” Treti and Harunath shouted in unison. Michela ignored the warning and continued on. Then, in a puff of snow, she disappeared.

Treti screamed and ran. Harunath and I weren’t far behind. The warden’s long legs covered the ground faster than my own and he reached Treti first, grabbing her arms and pulling her back. She thrashed in his hold and screamed as tears streaked down her face.

“Let me go. Bastard. My daughter. Michela.” She pulled a hand free and raked Harunath across the cheek with her nails.

“The ground isn’t safe. If you go running after Michela, we’re just going to lose you too. Pel, keep the others back.”

I’d stopped a few yards shy of them both and looked over my shoulder to find everyone hurrying over, concern painted on every face.

“Everyone stay where you are,” I shouted. “Too much movement could hinder the rescue effort.”

“What’s happened to her?” Rawl asked from the front. “Where is she?”

“We’re finding out.” Right then was a fantastic time for the old man to reveal whatever powers he had to keep himself alive, but he did nothing more than stand there with his arms folded.

“Let us check,” Orbur said, gesturing to the other Hunters.

“No,” the warden replied. “We can’t afford to lose you. It’s you and your team that keep the rest of us safe from living threats. I can handle this.”

“Just me then.” The way she said it allowed no argument and Harunath offered none. Orbur turned to Lasarusa and said a few short words in their own language. They clasped wrists and Lasarusa bowed low. Orbur must have seen my confused expression as, once she’d given orders to the rest of the Hunters and grabbed a coil of rope, she came to my side.

“I’ve officially handed temporary control over to Lasarusa. If anything happens to me, she’ll take my place.” With that, she stretched her neck and started towards where Michela had fallen, quickly covering the distance with her strange, loping gait. Harunath handed the distraught Treti over to Ileta, who wrapped a skinny arm around her and allowed the woman to sob into her shoulder. Then we both followed Orbur’s tracks.

It was soon clear what had happened as a yawning chasm appeared in the ground, as if rent open by a giant axe. Clumps of snow still fell from around the edges.

“She’s here,” the Hunter shouted, “and she’s alive, but stuck a good way down the crevice. It’s going to require a lot of work to get her out.”

The rope dug into my armpits straight away and the ice was like knives. I kicked a spike of it out of my way where it sheared off and shattered far below me with the sound of breaking glass. Michela’s pale, terrified face was a smudge against the dark rock she balanced on.

“Faster,” I called up, and was rewarded with a drop of a few feet that made my stomach lurch.

The closer I got, the more concerned I became. She lay on a ledge barely wider than her body. From the way the snow ran off it, I could tell the ledge was sloped towards the drop. The worst thing, though, was the poor girl’s leg which bent at a right-angle somewhere between knee and ankle. The one small mercy was that it didn’t appear to have broken the skin.

“I’m scared. Please get me out.” There was no power in her voice. If she passed out, she’d fall and, while we’d witnessed a minor miracle already, I doubted we’d be graced with a second to keep her alive at the bottom.

“I’m coming, hold on. You’re being so brave. Just a little longer.” I was mere yards away now, but I could no longer brace against the wall and I dangled there like a glob of Snowfiend drool.

“Alright, gently does it. I’ll need a bit of a swing too.” I was close enough that I’d have been able to reach Michela if only she could stand, but there was no chance of that happening, so with nothing to push off, I had to rely on Harunath and Orbur and anyone else who may have joined them to get me the direction I needed.

“Right you are,” came Harunath’s voice, distorted by the echoes rebounding from the chasm walls. The tension in the rope changed immediately and I started to sway. Less than an inch at first, but soon I was swinging a foot either way.

“That’s good, now lower me down so I can reach the ledge.” I got an affirmative reply and readied myself to grab the lip of the ledge. Two feet away, then one, then I was falling. My flailing arm crashed into the ledge and bounced off before I could get a grip. A ragged yelp escaped my lips and, for a moment, I thought I was going to die there until I jerked to a halt. The rope scooted up my ribs and jammed itself once more under my armpits. By the Ilskini, that was going to hurt the next day, but I was alive and mostly unharmed.

“Are you alright, Pel?” The warden’s voice drifted down.

“I’ve been better. What was that?”

“The snow slipped under our feet. Hold on and we’ll pull you back up a bit.” The rope squeezed me tighter so that it felt like my insides would be forced out of one end or the other. I grabbed the rope with both hands and pulled myself up as much as my position would allow. The relief around my ribs was immediate and I filled my lungs with cold air.

Above me, Michela’s whimpering had quietened to nearly nothing and that worried me more than if she was screaming her head off. Slowly I began to move up and as soon as the ledge was within reach, I latched onto the rock like a Bone Sucker to a corpse. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Harunath and Orbur, but I didn’t think my ribs could take any more beating. In the shadow of the shelf the light was dim and I could barely make out the handholds, relying on touch alone to find suitable cracks to pull myself up on. I did, at least, have the security of the rope around me. I had the sudden urge to look down and, though I couldn’t see past my feet, my courage fled and I froze on the spot. Somehow not knowing what was below me made the whole thing scarier.

“Come on, Pel,” I growled. It was just like climbing the ridge, easier even, and I’d done that three times. What’s more, the only thing I was saving then was my own sorry skin. Michela was relying on me to rescue her and I couldn’t let her down. I wasn’t sure if I could have lived with myself if I didn’t get her back out safely.

I found the edge of the lip and flopped myself over it by Michela’s head. The rock was ice-cold, which wasn’t a surprise but it sapped my body heat at an alarming rate and I could feel my toes already turning numb.

“I’m on the ledge, I’ve got her,” I shouted up. My announcement was greeted with a cheer from Harunath and what sounded like screaming. Treti must have appeared at the top and heard my news. “I’ll tell you when I need you to pull us up.”

Making sure I wasn’t going to slip off the ledge, I shuffled my body round to face the girl. She was still and silent and pale as fresh snow. Her skin was similarly cold to the touch. My insides felt like they’d been ripped out by a Rhenwarg and scattered across the ground. What if she’d been more injured than we’d realised, and our faffing had led to her death? Then a faint wisp of vapour rose from Michela’s lips. I clung onto that mist like it was a barrel and I a drowning man. I pressed two fingers under her chin and located a faint pulse, and faint it was, but that weak beating against my skin was the greatest feeling I’d ever had.

“She’s unconscious but alive. Get us up and out of here.” I wrapped her limp arms around my neck and locked my own around her in a grip stronger than a White Wyrm’s bite. The rope slid up once more, irritating the burns already seared into my ribs, but I didn’t feel them. I had Michela and by the Ilskini I was going to give her the best shot at recovery.

The haul back to the surface felt like a year. Eventually my head breached the snowy edges of the crevice and I blinked in what was now late afternoon light. Strong hands grabbed me and prised Michela from my grasp even as I was dragged onto firm ground.

“My baby,” Treti sobbed, leaning over her daughter. The girl had immediately been swaddled in cloaks and blankets. Something thick was draped across my shoulder too.

“You did a good job there,” Orbur said in my ear.

“It was very much a team effort. The important thing is that we have her back and almost in one piece. It goes to show that you can never take anything for granted, not even the ground beneath your feet.” I looked for Harunath. The warden had drawn himself up to his best bad-news size.

“We can’t continue any further today, not with Michela in the state she’s in.” These were the words that nobody wanted to hear, but that we’d all expected. Or at least, I had expected. The look of shock on Treti’s face indicated that the thought hadn’t crossed her mind until then.

“But you told us that we had to reach the Sanctuary. That we don’t have the equipment to spend a night in the open.”

“I know what I said,” the warden replied, harsher than usual. “What I hadn’t factored into my calculations was carrying an injured child. We need to give her a full check over before we even think about moving on. Pel, once you’ve got your breath back, please tell Ileta that I need to talk to her, and you might as well pass the bad news on to everyone else.”

I groaned. The verbal flogging I’d get as the messenger was going to be awful, but it was a thousand times better than performing a physician’s check on Michela, especially if there was more damage than simply her leg. Now that was news I would never wish to deliver.

Whilst Harunath lay the girl on a bed of cloaks, I tried to stand up. My legs, however, had different ideas and I staggered sideways. Whatever it was that had kept me going on the end of that rope had deserted me. Orbur must have seen me struggling as she was next to me in an instant, wrapping my arm around her shoulders and hers about my waist.

“There we go, you’ve been through a lot already today. Even if Michela was able to walk, I doubt you’d be going anywhere fast. Here, I’ll help you back to the others. I’ll even pass the message on for you.” I leant on her all the way back to the rest of the party, who’d formed a loose circle. Most were playing a variation of sevens, though a handful had decided to catch a few minutes of sleep. Ileta kept a watchful eye over them all. All eyes turned to us as we reached them.

“How is she?” Modrik asked.

“She’s alive,” I replied. A cheer went up around the circle. “She’s injured though, and quite badly with it. Harunath is examining her now to understand the extent of her injuries.”

“And that means one thing.” Orbur took over. “We’ll be staking camp here tonight as, with Michela’s injuries, we can’t maintain the required pace to reach the Sanctuary before nightfall.”

Modrik’s face went a shade of purple. “Oh no we bloody aren’t. I feel sorry for the girl, but I’m not going to risk my neck staying out here when we have nothing but what we’ve got in our packs. I’ll carry on alone if I have to.”

His sentiments were repeated by a handful of others in quick succession.

“When you’re quite finished,” Ileta barked, and silence descended. “While I can’t physically stop anyone from continuing to the Sanctuary, I strongly suggest you fucking don’t. Do I need to remind you what lurks in the snow? There’s a reason we travel in larger groups.”

“I don’t care. The large group you talk of didn’t stop the Snowfiends attacking, or the White Wyrm. We don’t have a chance out here tonight. All I can say is good luck to anyone stupid enough to put their trust in you. Anyone else that wants to live through the night can come with me.” He took a few steps and separated himself from the rest. After a moment, four others joined him.

“You’re all fools,” Ileta said.

I raised my palms and walked towards them. “Come on, let’s not make hasty decisions. The only way to get through is to stick together.”

Modrik’s face twisted into a mask of scorn. “Found time to clamber out of Harunath’s pocket, have you? Why don’t you crawl back in there and leave the rest of us to make our own decisions.”

“Now, that’s not fair.”

Modrik scoffed. “Nothing in this life is fair, Pel. Do you think any of this is fair? It was a stupid girl eighty years ago who cocked up and got us into this mess in the first place. I won’t let another girl’s weaknesses get me killed now.”

“She’s a child!”

“The White Wyrm won’t care how old she bloody is when it slaughters you all. Stow your words, you won’t change my mind.”

There was silence as the five of them marched away, Modrik pointing the way like a general going into battle.

I turned to Ileta, whose face was dark as a storm cloud. “Do you think they’ll make it?”

“Do you think I care? Jumped up little twat. I never did trust him.”

“I’m not sure you trust anyone.”

“You’re not wrong there. I’ve still got my eye on you in case you thought I’d forgotten, but whilst you’re being useful, help me get everyone over to Harunath. Having the crevice to our backs for the night is not a stupid idea, unlike trying to walk to the Sanctuary without Hunters.”

Modrik and his followers had long since disappeared into the dusk by the time the rest of us had set up what would have to pass for a camp. There was no chance of a fire. Harunath had debated taking a wagonload of fuel, but it would have slowed us down too much. Of course, hindsight was always perfect. One ripple of that decision was that no fire meant no stew. The knowledge that a hot meal was waiting at the end of a day’s travelling was one of the things that had sustained many of us along the journey. That night’s meal, then, was a bitter one in a number of ways. Harunath and Ileta rationed out the strips of Bone Sucker meat between us. If you’ve ever left meat to go rotten, you’ll know how it smells. Bone Sucker flesh was ten times worse even as fresh as it was. I held my nose as I chewed a mouthful of the stuff. Not only did it reek, it was as tough as old boots and had a tendency to stick in your throat, or so I’d been told, so I couldn’t even just bite and swallow. The glob of meat slowly became pulp between my teeth and I gulped the final bit down. It slid reluctantly down my throat and hit my stomach like a rock.

As darkness fell, we shared out what additional clothing and blankets remained, though most had been lost at the Knife Edge. Without a fire, the cold cut through me and I stuffed my hands up under my armpits to find a kernel of warmth there. We huddled together to share as much body heat as we could muster, though I couldn’t help but worry if we would all wake the next morning. Everyone knew of somebody who’d frozen to death overnight. I settled my head onto my arm facing the crevice and tried to sleep. My eyelids drifted shut, but before they closed fully two pricks of light came to life in the chasm. I sat bolt upright.

“Everything alright?” Harunath asked.

The lights had gone when I looked back. “Fine, had that feeling I was falling. That’s all.”

“Not surprising, considering what you’ve done today. Try and get some sleep. We’ll need it tomorrow.”

I lay back down with my eyes firmly on the dark cut that was the crevice. The lights reappeared and were joined by more until there were a score of twin points glowing in the darkness and I knew we were being watched.

Ashuto

Yolene advanced down the alley. Her eyebrows pulled together to crease her brow and her lips were tight.

Ashuto backed away with his hands raised. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“Oh really? Because to me, it looks like you were using some foul Firthenite magic to report back to your masters.”

The rear wall of the alley pressed against him. No escape that way, and getting past a furious Yolene would be harder than melting into the wall. What was she doing here? She should have been getting provisions elsewhere in the city.

“I’m no spy.”

“You expect me to believe that horseshit now? I’ve caught you with your hand in the strongbox and you will answer to Saph. She’s going to be so disappointed with you, and though I had no desire to be proved right, the vindication is pleasing.”

“I swear, I’ve not been reporting anything to anyone. Don’t you think I’d have had better things to do here than hang around with you two if I was spying? What information could I possibly learn?”

“Access to the Princept of Alliquis for a start, and let’s not forget you murdered the Elder Shepherd of the Cleansing Flame. Highly convenient, don’t you think? You may have fooled Saph, but I know what you are.”

“For the love of the Gods, I…”

A thought struck him. Yolene was not stupid, she knew what she’d seen but not the whole truth of it. Admit to espionage and Saphielle might have mercy on him, but if he continued to press his innocence then they’d dig deeper and discover who he really was. There would be no mercy then, except, perhaps, that of a swift blade.

“Alright, you caught me but–”

Yolene’s eyes widened but they weren’t fixed on his face. “What’s that in your hand? It’s… no, it can’t be. A scale? Dain Forbes… but he had the arrowhead. You thought… Simetra’s tits, you’re the Great Wyrm’s champion, aren’t you?”

“Champion, what champion?” It was a weak ploy and he knew it wouldn’t stop Yolene even for a moment, but it was all he could come up with. He steadied himself on the wall with his foot.

“I ought to kill you now, but Saphielle deserves to see it for herself.” She stood there, arms folded, a grim smile on her face. “Do you surrender?”

“I can’t. You don’t understand why, but I can’t. As much as I like Saphielle, and I do, she’s fighting for the wrong side. I’m not talking Firthen and Alliquis, this goes so far beyond that. I’m sorry.”

Pushing off the wall, he launched himself at Yolene. The woman had several inches on him, and surely outweighed and outmuscled him too, but he was quick. His shoulder hit hers and spun them both around, then he was clear. His feet pounded the stone until strong fingers wrapped around his ankle and he hit the floor, chin meeting the ground driving his teeth into his tongue. Blood filled his mouth and he spat it out, hot and metallic. The scale bounce free of his hand and rattled over the stone, coming to rest at the bottom of the wall.

“You don’t get away that easily.” Yolene dragged him back an inch at a time. “Come here, you bastard.”

With his head spinning, he was helpless to resist. His fingers scrabbled uselessly on the cobbles.

“Let me go.” He kicked out and Yolene grunted, the pressure on his ankle releasing. He scrambled up dazed, took two steps and fell again. Yolene pounced and wrapped him in an iron grip. He wriggled like a worm in a blackbird’s beak and twisted himself around so they were face to face. His forehead hit her nose and she swore, but there wasn’t enough force in the blow to do any real damage. Her elbow cracked down on the crown of his head and the momentary daze allowed her to pin his arms back and kneel on his chest. One knee dug into his ribs, the other into his stomach and he couldn’t breathe.

Shouting for help was out of the question. Most people in Brightfont didn’t seem to be in the mood to help strangers. Dart was nowhere near and Saphielle would be searching her own part of the city. This was a fight he had to win on his own. Until he completed the ritual, he didn’t even have the Great Wyrm’s aid to fall back on.

Each breath was harder to draw than the last. Did she intend to kill him, or was she unaware of her own strength? The answer mattered not. The outcome would be the same. Air trickled into his lungs and his heart beat faster, faster. He felt around for something, anything he could use to get himself free and his fingers closed on the neck of the glass bottle. With the last of his strength, he smashed it against the side of Yolene’s head. She slumped on top of him without even a cry. Blood from the gash on her scalp ran onto his face. He spluttered and fought to extract himself from beneath her. After a moment he rolled her off and pulled himself up. A deep breath filled his chest with acrid air

Blood pooled rapidly around Yolene’s head, pulsing from the wound. He wiped a streak of it from his cheek with his sleeve. What was he to do with her now? He couldn’t just leave. If he’d learned anything about her, it was that she’d hunt him down across the breadth of Alliquis and beyond if she had to. He stared at the broken bottle in his hand, as deadly as any knife. Into the throat. Just as he’d stabbed Dain Forbes, and Yolene would never bother him again.

He threw the bottleneck aside and it shattered on the wall. She was not to blame for any of this. He couldn’t do it.

With Saphielle’s dagger, he severed the tie of Yolene’s cloak and cut the material into strips. They were clumsy knots he bound her wrists with, ones his pa would have shaken his head at, but his hands shook as he tied them and it was the best he could do. He hoped they’d last long enough to put plenty of distance between himself and the unconscious woman. He balled another strip, stuffed it into her mouth and tied it there. With the last bits of the cloak he folded half into a wad and pressed it against her scalp, bandaging it in place. If he left her to bleed out, it would be no different than if he had stabbed her.

“I really am sorry. It’s better this way, I promise. You won’t need to see what I have to do.” He dragged her closer to the wall and covered her with an old sack and one of the smaller crates. Couldn’t have anyone finding her too soon. That done, he retrieved the scale, stashing it back in his pocket. The coats lay in a heap where he’d dropped them but Yolene’s blood had flowed between the cobbles and soaked into the sleeve of the one on the bottom. He swore. How would he explain that to Saphielle? They only needed two coats now. The third he could leave there with Yolene, but that would arouse suspicion if he turned up with just the two and Yolene failed to appear. He’d have to make his excuses some other way. He bundled the coats up with the bloodied one on the inside, shot one final glance at the unconscious Yolene and stepped back onto Dyers Street.

The sky was rapidly darkening as he finally left the stench of the dyeing vats behind. The Dain’s Court was near enough to the temple that he couldn’t get lost trying to find it. He stopped briefly at a fountain and let the cool water run red as it washed Yolene’s blood off his hands. He splashed a few cupped handfuls onto his face as well. The cold sharpened him up. It had been careless to get caught and if it happened again there was no guarantee he’d get out of it. He had to be better if he was going to succeed, even if success meant more blood staining his soul.

Saphielle

Saphielle lay Cop’s body on the ground and closed his eyes as tears leaked from hers.

All we can do is choose the manner of our passing.

It was beautiful advice, but he should never have had to give it to her. When she’d left the others, the plan had been to scope out the city walls for a potential way out. Nothing more. How, then, had she become so close to the former physician, and so upset by his death? She’d known him for less than half a day.

A ragged cheer went up from the wall behind her. She turned as the last of the Firthenites fell from the ramparts and hit the street with the crack of breaking bone. The Noonguard reinforcements heaved away the last of the ladders and the city wall was Alliquean again.

The captain strode forward, readjusting the plume on his helmet. “There’s no time to be preening your nose hairs in your breastplates. Get these bodies shifted before someone trips over one and breaks their neck. There’s a chapel down the street. Our dead go in there. As for the others” – He kicked the top of a black helmet – “leave them to the dogs, for all I care, just get them off my battlement.”

The soldiers groaned but sheathed their weapons and carefully lifted the bodies of their fallen comrades.

Saphielle rose and wiped the tears from her face. She didn’t recognise any of the soldiers, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t recognise her. A fragment of shattered glass from the explosion reflected her appearance back at her. Hair like a pigeon’s nest, face smothered in stone dust and dirt. If she didn’t know it was her reflection, she’d have mistaken the person within it for a war-broken refugee rather than the Princept of Alliquis.

The first pair of Noonguard reached the street, carrying a body between them. The corpse’s armour was rent open on one side and the remains of his ribcage glistened within.

Six more mirror-armoured bodies followed, each carried by two Noonguard. Then came the city guards slaughtered during the assault. The sergeant’s dead eyes stared sightlessly into the sky, her head lolling between the arms of the Noonguard carrying her. Those Noonguard not carrying an Alliquean body began to drag the dead Firthenites down the steps to the street and dumped them in a pile.

Saphielle took slow, deep breaths and let the pain and grief fade to a manageable ache. 

The captain followed the last of the dead Noonguard, blue plume fluttering limply, a dark stain marring the feathers. As he drew level with her, he paused.

“I saw what you did earlier, and I owe you my thanks. If it weren’t for you, we may well have lost the wall, and Brightfont itself.” He glanced down at Cop’s body. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

Saphielle sniffed. “I did what anyone would have done.”

“That’s not true, though I wish it was. If everyone here fought like you, then we might have a chance. We just have to hope Dain Baku arrives with the rest of the army before the city falls.”

“Where have you taken our fallen? Forget what I did. Without Cop I would have died up there. I’d like to place him alongside them.”

The officer nodded. “A fine gesture. A chapel has been commandeered down the street. You may lay your friend – what was his name? Cop? You may lay Cop there.”

“Thank you. What about the enemy, where will they go?”

“They’ll go into whichever pit I can find for them until someone has the time to relieve them of their weapons and build a fire big enough to burn them all. Go on, get Cop to the chapel before it fills up. Simetra knows, there’s going to be plenty of bodies that need cleansing over the next few days. I can spare some hands if you need them.”

“No, thank you. I’ll manage. It’s the least I can do for him.”

Cop was not a big man but Sapphire still staggered under his weight. She adjusted her arms, set her jaw and began the arduous march to the chapel.

It wasn’t the most dignified funeral procession, but at least he had someone. At least he had her, which was more than he would have had when the Wit-rot finally took him. The returning Noonguard bowed their heads as they passed her and she responded with a nod. Not one of them gave her a second glance.

The chapel was tucked away behind one of the lodge houses, a two-minute walk from Cop’s house. What would happen to the place now? Had Cop owned it, or was he simply housed there by the Lucins that looked after the Village? What would happen to his personal belongings? If she didn’t have a literal mountain to climb, she’d have taken anything Cop had left behind and… done what exactly? She didn’t know, but it felt wrong for a Lucin to throw what was left onto a fire and forget about Cop as if he’d never existed.

The chapel itself was barely larger than a horse stall. Had she been in charge, she’d have posted a soldier to keep vigil over the dead. Indeed, had she been in charge, she’d have found somewhere else to keep the bodies in the first place. It was far too small a building to house the number of Alliqueans killed. At least someone had hung a cleansing lantern inside the door. Dain Baku had taught her that you could tell much about a people by the way they treated their dead.

With her arms burning, she angled Cop through the door and into the chapel where the cool air of the interior soothed the scrapes on her face. The casualties of the battle were not the first occupants and, despite the temperature, the smell of decay had taken root. The cleansing lantern spilled a pool of warm light onto the ground. Custom dictated that a body should be cleansed by light before it could be incinerated. The logic of that was less solid considering it was a beam of light focused through lenses blessed by a Lucin that burned the body anyway. Surely that amount of light was more sacred than a lantern or two, but that was how things were done. Barok’s cremation had taken place while she was confined to the Spire. Her father had sent soldiers to retrieve his body and the procession had been visible from her balcony, as had the smoke from his pyre. All told, there had been thousands of people there to pay their respects, but she wasn’t one of them and that hurt.

She lay Cop in the space between a Noonguard and another civilian. The Noonguard’s cause of death was obvious from the hole in his neck, but the woman looked as if she was only sleeping were it not for the pallid nature of her skin. Folding Cop’s arms across his chest, she looked around the rest of the chapel and massaged her shoulders. Dozens of soldiers and almost as many civilians. This bloody war was nothing more than a waste of lives to satisfy her father’s own grief, and the anger and pain that accompanied it. When the war was over, when one side or other stood victorious, nothing would have changed. There would be thousands of new widows on both sides, thousands of children who’d grow up without a mother or father, parents burying their sons and daughters decades before their proper time, and for what? The ego and overreach of a man who didn’t know the meaning of ‘no’. Once she’d stopped the Great Wyrm, she’d make sure she returned to stop her father. After an enemy as powerful as the one she currently faced, a mere man would be nothing.

There was a long way to go before that happened, however. She muttered a final prayer and stepped out of the chapel. Nothing more she could do for Cop now.

The sky was a shade of lavender, bleeding out at its western border, when Saphielle returned to the scene of the battle. Though dusk had settled, she was no closer to finding a way out of Brightfont. Part of her wished one of the Firthenite ladders had remained latched onto the wall, but that would’ve presented another slew of problems. Not least getting through the Firthenite encampment without being stopped. The soldiers had procured a wagon from somewhere and the Noonguard hefted the Firthenite corpses onto its bed.

The captain raised a hand as she approached. “I hope Cop finds his place in the Sunlit Pastures.”

“Thank you. He didn’t deserve what happened, but who does in times like this?”

“Quite right. All we can pray for is a swift end to this war. Have you got somewhere to go? I’m sure we could make use of someone like yourself if you don’t.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I have friends waiting for me. Say, about these bodies. Would it be an idea to return them? It might help to forge an understanding with the Firthenite commanders.” And it would give her an opportunity to escape under one of the wagons.

“That’s a decision far above my rank. All I’ve been told to do is load the corpses up and transport them to the designated location.”

While the captain replied, a tattooed face caught her attention among the dead. She’d seen that face smirk at her before launching the blast that killed Cop and her fist clenched. Then a thought reared its head.

“I understand. Whilst I’m here, I may as well do my part.”

“I won’t stop you. Carry on.” It took a concentrated effort to fight against her Noonguard training and not salute. Once the captain had moved on, she bent and dragged the Noxum out. With deft fingers, she located the pouch on the Noxum’s belt where the crystals were stored. A swift pat told her there was one remaining inside. Checking none of the Noonguard were focused on her, she unbuckled the pouch and within moments had it hidden inside her clothing.

“Thank you,” she muttered. Her muscles protested as she lifted the Noxum and dumped them on the back of the wagon. That done, she pressed a hand to the hidden pouch and hurried back towards the Village. When she was sure there were no eyes on her, she withdrew the pouch and opened the flap. A soft blue glow emanated from within and a shock ran up her arm as she grabbed the crystal, pulling it free. Up close it was even more beautiful than she’d imagined it to be. Veins of white pulsed inside the crystal like captured lightning slowed down to admire it all the better. It was a strange thing, similar to her flamestone amulet in some ways, but vastly different in others. Both, though, held power. She stuffed it away again. Though Brightfont was usually a safe city, desperation was growing and she wasn’t sure what people might resort to.

It didn’t take long to pass through the Village. Her eyes drifted to the front of Cop’s house where, no more than twelve hours ago, he’d made her startle. It simultaneously felt like an age and no time at all. The conversation about her mother, joking about tunnels under the walls.

It felt like icy water had been thrown over her. Tunnels. How had she not thought of it before?

She dashed into Cop’s house. He was a resourceful man, surely he’d have what she was after somewhere. There was little in the way of personal belongings downstairs. A cup and bowl, both of which had seen better days. A tattered blanket that could well have been from his childhood. Only in the bedroom was there a semblance of his personality. Stacks and stacks of books littered the floor. The single shelf groaned under their weight. Even the small table, missing a leg, was propped up on a pile of tomes. She’d have to return when she’d dealt with the Great Wyrm and make sure the books were preserved. It would be a travesty, not just to Cop, but to knowledge itself, if the books were thrown away. Eventually, in a corner thick with cobwebs, she found what she was looking for. She shook the floating strands of web off the coil of rope, musty with age, and looped it over her shoulder. It wasn’t everything she’d envisaged getting when she assigned the tasks back at the temple, but it would have to do.

Night had fallen when she stepped back outside and a pang of guilt shook her. It was at least two hours after dusk and the others must have been worried about her. She’d taken a few steps when Simetra’s token grew warm against the skin of her breast. A single word formed in her mind, faint as if carried on the wind from a great distance. Danger. She glanced skywards. The night sky was scattered with the diamond light of myriad stars. The history of Ebria was contained in those stars, in the patterns and pictures they formed, but the moon was dark. Amul’s power would be diminished and so too, the reflected power of Simetra.

A spear of bright white light shot up into the sky from somewhere on the other side of the temple. It is him. The pain and effort contained in those words was undeniable. If Simetra felt she had to warn her through her own weakness, it must have been vital.

Ashuto

After several hours of sitting against a wall, Ashuto was grateful for the coats, blood-stained or otherwise. The temperature had dropped with the falling of night so he’d draped one across his shoulder. The other two served to cushion his arse. He leant against the brick and picked the skin of his thumb. The pain when he peeled a strip away grounded him in the moment. He sucked air through his teeth and absentmindedly put his thumb in his mouth to suck the blood off. It tasted of iron and salt, but there was a staler taste too. With horror, he spat his blood and Yolene’s onto the ground. The water had washed most of it from his hands but there were still dried, brown patches under his nails and in the crevices of his fingers. He stared at them for a moment then started furiously picking at the brown flakes. He needed them gone.

“Get off,” he growled, scratching his palm until it hurt.

Overhead, the white towers of the Dain’s Court rose above the buildings in front of it. He couldn’t deny it was an impressive structure, but why did the ritual have to be performed at the most heavily-guarded building in Brightfont? He stretched his knees out and the right one clicked. In his lap, the scale sat dull and lifeless. He could leave it there in the street and simply walk away. How would the Great Wyrm get to him then? Memories of the dreams returned to him. Craydon destroyed and its people burning. If he walked away now, he’d be giving up on all of them and, more importantly, giving up on his family. He owed them more than that. He owed them the fall of the Ilskini, whose influence was the cause of it all, and the only way for that to happen was to aid the Great Wyrm in defeating Simetra.

As if it could hear him, the Great Wyrm stirred again inside his head. “It is time. Proceed to the Dain’s Court and we shall begin.”

Ashuto pushed himself up, shook the stiffness from his limbs and stepped onto a wide street that ran through Brightfont from the court to the temple. After a couple of hundred yards, the Dain’s Court appeared at the end of a road. He’d seen a castle once, when Wilden had taken him to Barden a couple of years ago. It was an enormous, squat thing, all grey stone and arrow slits. This building was as if someone had taken that castle and rebuilt it at a quarter of the scale out of the white stone he was becoming so familiar with. Somehow, that change in dimensions had transformed it into an elegant building rather than the hulking monolith the castle had been. A trough of foot-high flames ran around the building’s perimeter, but more impressive than that were the veins of pulsing orange light that ran up the wall. The light and that from the fire were reflected in the breastplates and helmets of over a hundred Noonguard arrayed around the great front doors.

“Yes, this is it. The ritual must be performed here, I can feel the memory of power throughout this place,” the Great Wyrm said.

Ashuto gulped. “You can’t be serious, in view of all these soldiers? At best they’d lock me up if I started the ritual.”

“It’s their attention I’m counting on. Listen to my instructions and carry them out exactly as I tell you.”

Before the Great Wyrm could continue, Ashuto’s presence had attracted the suspicion of the nearest Noonguard. “Hey, this area is off limits. Make yourself scarce before I drag you to a cell.” The soldier took a few paces out of line and his shout made several others look around.

“Let them come to you. This is a ritual that requires blood, and there is much of that here.”

“You’re mad,” Ashuto squeaked. “I can’t kill all these Noonguard. I’ll be lucky to get one before they run me through, then you’ll be championless.”

“Oh my meltwater boy, you won’t need to kill them. All I need you to do is activate the scale with a little of your own blood, the rest I can manage. Do it now, then throw it in front of you. You must hold your nerve. Things will get dangerous, but I will not let any harm befall you. On this you have my word.”

“I won’t tell you again.” The Noonguard had halved the gap between them and he’d been joined by five others.

Ashuto took a deep breath and took out the scale.

“Drop that now. This is your only chance to comply.”

“You want it? Come and get it,” Ashuto replied with far more confidence in his words than there was in his heart. The six soldiers were close now and others had also been drawn to the commotion. Ashuto’s chest was near to exploding with the tension inside. He must be mad. Either he was, or the Great Wyrm was. A hundred soldiers. That wasn’t a small number, and he was expected to do what exactly? Throw a bloodied scale at them? At the same time, that was his best option. Any sort of combat with the Noonguard would end up with him choking on three feet of steel.

He dragged the scale across his thumb, deeper than before, and screwed his face up at the sharp pain. Blood welled in the cut and started to run down his hand and wrist.

“What are you doing?” one of the Noonguard asked.

Ashuto smeared a stripe of blood across the surface of the scale. The redness of the liquid stood out stark against the white scale. Immediately the scale began to glow. He waited a few heartbeats, long enough for confusion to appear on the soldiers’ faces. Once the scale was emitting enough light to rival a candle, Ashuto threw it at the oncoming soldiers as if he were skimming a pebble. It landed a few yards away from them. The first Noonguard held up his hand and closed it into a fist. The others halted on the spot, already inspecting the scale.

“What is this cheap trick, do you think it’ll prevent us from locking you up?” The Noonguard kicked it with a heavy boot, but instead of sending the scale skittering across the stone flags, a carpet of ice grew from it and enveloped the Noonguard’s foot. The sneer vanished from his face, replaced with shock and worry. And worry was the right response. The ice sheet grew larger, flowing from the scale’s surface. Ice crystals formed on the man’s leg in needle-like structures. Another soldier grabbed his arms and tried to pull him out of the ice, but the Wyrm’s magic prevented the man from moving as sure as if he’d been nailed to the ground. A tendril of frost darted out of the cloud and wrapped itself around the second soldier’s wrist. The man screamed as his skin instantly froze.

The ice continued to creep up the first Noonguard’s leg. Thin spikes pierced his flesh and turned to ruby like they were draining the man’s blood from him. All the while, the mist grew, pulling in more and more of the Noonguard. All six who’d approached were caught in its trap. Beyond them, the rest of the Noonguard watched on. More left their posts and came tentatively towards him, weapons sharp and bared.

Ashuto found himself backing away, but not from the Noonguard. The ice swarmed up the Noonguard’s leg, past his hip and up his torso, turning the polished breastplate into a frosted cell. Spikes of ice punctured the metal as if it were no thicker than paper, each one turning blood red within moments.

He baulked at the spectacle. Dain Forbes and Yolene had died quickly. Whatever was happening now was cruelty for the sake of it. He didn’t care if this was how it had to be in order to recharge the power in the scale, if the Great Wyrm required this amount of agony for his rituals, it made following his vision that bit harder.

Not that Ashuto could complain without ending up like the soldiers. They were screaming now. He’d watched Noonguard charge into a body of soldiers five times their number without a whimper, all while Noxa detonated their magic overhead. A puff of mist escaped from his lips and he realised how cold the air had gotten. He shivered.

The sheet of ice reached the young Noonguard’s heart. A shard of ice as long as Ashuto’s forearm erupted from the breastplate. All colour drained from the man’s face as the ice filled up with crimson. The same thing was happening to the other soldiers beyond and the ice was still spreading across the ground. There must have been a score of Noonguard already trapped. Those at the edge started in horror as it caught their feet, and once it had them, there was no escape.

“Yes, you have done well, my champion. My power is growing and will soon flow into my token. Then you will have all you need to locate Simetra’s pup and put an end to them.”

The ice spread faster and faster. The Noonguard who were still free turned and ran towards the Dain’s Court calling out warnings to those within.

“Assassin.”

“We’re under attack!”

An arrow slashed down from atop the wall and hit the ground away to Ashuto’s right. A second followed, hitting the ice and ricocheting away. If more soldiers were sent out, how many could the Great Wyrm kill before they reached him? Between him and the castle, the creeping ice had caught more stragglers, pinning them to the spot and draining their blood into the shards that ripped their flesh. The scale grew brighter every time another soldier died. It was beautiful yet it disgusted him that something so stunning was built solely on death. There was another downside to the scale’s brightness. The more it illuminated the square and, more importantly, himself, the more he became a target. As if to emphasise his thought, a third arrow shattered on the ground less than a yard from his foot. He leapt to the side and almost landed on the ice which had crept towards him. Whether the Wyrm’s power was advanced enough to tell friend from foe, he wasn’t sure, and he didn’t want to find out the hard way.

“I’d like to leave now.”

“You will not. The ritual is almost complete and you will see it through.”

“How will I know it’s complete?”

“You’ll know.” The Great Wyrm’s voice rumbled in his head, finishing on something that sounded like a chuckle. The light from the scale was bright enough now to illuminate the pained expressions of the dead Noonguards’ faces. Ice crystals glittered on their skin, their eyebrows and hair, and frosted the light’s reflection in their armour. Those still alive had lost all interest in him. They clustered around the gate and beat it with armoured fists, begging to be let in but the slabs of wood remained closed as the ice continued its inevitable creep across the courtyard.

The screams began before the ice had even reached them. Ashuto looked away, focusing on the scale instead, but that barely helped. It flared brighter and brighter as more of the soldiers were consumed by the ritual. The ritual he had started. Every death here rested squarely on his shoulders, and for what? What was he getting from it? His mouth was dry as ash. It was no good having second thoughts now, the damage had already been done. His lot was well and truly thrown in with the Great Wyrm and every bloody pact and ritual the creature demanded. Whether it was a figment of his imagination, the flow of power into the scale or something else, he felt the Wyrm’s presence looming over him with a weight greater than the mountains he had to reach. The screams and whimpers died and a hush descended across the square.

Everywhere Ashuto looked was covered in a layer of ice and Noonguard stood like frozen statues among it. A flash of blinding light shot skywards in a crackling column. It pulsated there for a few heartbeats before it faded to nothing as quickly as it had come. A slash of white cut his vision in half where the column had been.

“It is done.” The voice boomed around the courtyard and echoed back off the castle walls so loudly that Ashuto was sure the whole city would be able to hear, and maybe they did, or maybe it was all in his head. If the disembodied voice didn’t attract attention, the beacon of light that had lit up the rooftops surely would have. He prodded the ice with the end of his boot and it didn’t immediately swarm up his leg. A few tentative steps took him to within reach of the scale. The light had mostly faded from it, leaving it with a soft glow within that pulsed gently. He reached out and plucked it from the ground. A cold shock ran through his body and he fell to his knees before collapsing into darkness.

He stood at the peak of the mountain. Snow gusted past his face and heaped against a rocky outcrop, yet he felt no cold. A shadow fell over him and he turned slowly. The Great Wyrm stood there, majestic and terrifying. His wings were spread wide and he beat them, sending snow swirling into the air.

“The power within my token has been restored, but the ritual served another purpose. Not only can I take life, I can also create it. What you have done today will help usher in an age of ice, but it is not enough simply to seize power. I must also hold it. The first legion of my thralls, my fiends, has been created. Humans will become subject to me and as your reward, you shall oversee this. Power will be yours, more than you ever dreamed of, but this will only be possible if you destroy Simetra’s champion. Do not fail me.”

“Isak. Isak?” The words drifted through the snow, snatched at by gusts of wind like crows picking over carrion. He tried to turn, but his feet were frozen to the ground as the Noonguard’s had been.

“Isak, where are you?” He knew the voice, a woman’s, but there was a freezing fog in his mind that stopped the details from emerging.

“I can feel the Goddess of Light and Day. You know what to do.” The Great Wyrm’s words were as clear as they had ever been. Shadows rolled across the peak and hit him like an avalanche.

Saphielle

She took the steps to the Dain’s Court three at a time. The bright light had come from there and already a cluster was starting to form. She pushed through the burgeoning crowd and came to a dead stop. Fire illuminated the horrific scene, both from around the burning moat around the Dain’s Court and from a number of puddles of burning oil which had clearly been thrown from the walls. Dozens of Noonguard were positioned across the square, but it was a cruel mockery of life. Spears of ice held them upright and their blue-tinged faces were contorted into screams. The vast majority were crammed beneath the gatehouse where the great doors were firmly closed. Only one body lay prone. A thin body with black hair and a satchel. She shrugged free of the gawking onlookers and ran to him.

“Isak, is that you? By the Ilskini, what happened to you?” She reached out to shake his shoulder. It was cold beneath her hand as she rolled him onto his back. His eyes were closed, skin pale as snow and his lips were turning blue. “Isak.”

His eyelids fluttered and ever so slowly opened.

“Saph?”

“It’s me. Are you alright? Here, let me look at you.” She helped him sit up and took his head in her hands, tilting it gently to one side then the other. Isak fidgeted as she inspected him but, other than the temperature of his skin which even now was warming again, he seemed fine.

“The Great Wyrm did this, I know it. I’ll make him pay for the Alliquean blood he’s spilt, and for almost taking you too. We can’t stay here, though.” She helped Isak back to his feet. “Got everything?”

The boy patted himself down, checked the latch on his satchel, then nodded.

“Everyone is to return to their homes.” A loud voice boomed out from atop the wall, amplified by a cone held in front of the speaker’s mouth. “Disperse from the vicinity and do not return until express permission is given, this is by order of the king.”

“Knowing my father, he’ll do everything he can to keep this a secret, but he’ll have a damned hard job now.”

She brushed her hands off and was about to turn her back on the Court when movement caught her eye. The closest soldier, a two-foot length of ice speared through his heart, twitched. A finger at first, moving ever so slightly. Then his hand curled inwards followed by a shake of his arm as if he was defrosting a bit at a time. The corpse’s shoulders shook and ice crystals dropped from his body to shatter on the ground with a sound like breaking glass. It couldn’t be. Not even a Noonguard could being implanted like that. Yet the corpse continued to move.

“We need to leave, now,” she said, taking hold of Isak’s arm.

The dead Noonguard grabbed the lance of ice and pulled it out of his chest. It, for the thing that had been a man was no longer human, roared and shook its frozen weapon towards the crowd. Someone screamed and chaos broke loose. Then the next Noonguard moved and like a ripple, each of the dead soldiers reanimated. Saphielle stared at the monster in front of her. Its skin was a pallid grey and its pupils had turned white leaving its eyes pale pits in a face twisted with hunger.

It lunged at her and she only just managed to spin aside as the thing groped with pale fingers. Instead of following her, it found another target and ambled towards a man still inspecting one of the bodies. The creature made a guttural grunt and the man finally noticed its presence. He yelled in surprise and the thing lashed out with a curled hand. Red stripes appeared on the man’s face as the creature’s nails tore through skin and flesh. His yell became a shriek, his face a bloody mess of bone and cartilage. Saphielle dragged Isak into a run. This time, the responsibility to deal with that shitshow was someone else’s.

The city was abuzz as they hurried back to the temple. As fast as they went, the news had travelled faster and a pall of despair fell over Brightfont.

An old woman stood half hidden in her doorway, talking to an equally ancient man.

“That’s evil magic, that is. Those Firthenites have gone too far now, Simetra won’t stand for such darkness. She’ll smite them down for this, I can feel it in my bones.”

Saphielle snorted but it caught in the back of her throat and turned into a cough. Simetra wasn’t in the business of smiting people. Sure, she had her Final Arrow, but she’d given control of that particular function to humans, and look how that had turned out. That’s why she was running through Brightfont with a bow on her back. Even the Ilskini had to rely on humans to do their dirty work.

“You alright?” Isak slapped her on the back.

“Fine, just choked on air.”

Their pace was curtailed by a turnip stall, pushed over by those fleeing the Dain’s Court. Its wares were crushed underfoot, but those that escaped rolled for yards between people’s legs. Saphielle pulled Isak aside as a man trod on one and his ankle buckled, sending him stumbling.

“Thank you for saving my arse, and I don’t mean just now,” the boy said.

“Think nothing of it, but what were you doing over there in the first place?”

He turned his gaze to the floor. “I got lost on my way back. I was walking around those streets for ages trying to get to the temple but I ended up there. I didn’t find a way out of Brightfont, though. Did you?”

She patted his shoulder and smiled. “You know what, I think I have. There are catacombs under the city that radiate from beneath the temple. We should be able to use them to escape. I’m furious I didn’t think of it earlier. I see you got us some coats though, well done.”

After a short while, they squeezed around the stall and got a good view of the chaos unfolding in front of the temple. The doors were wide open where the Noonguard had come running out, and half a dozen Lucins struggled to keep panicked refugees from entering. They formed a line across the doorway, but their thin defence was nothing compared to the scores of people pushing to get in. It took less than a minute for the Lucins to buckle and the line to break. Refugees poured inside.

Isak pressed a hand to his face and sucked a breath in through his teeth. “Fear turns us all feral in the end.”

“I don’t blame them,” Saphielle said. “The city is under siege and they’ve just heard stories about murdered soldiers coming back from the dead. If I didn’t know her personally, I’d turn to the Goddess too.”

“You don’t reckon she’ll be able to help?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I thought she could intervene in our affairs in ways such as this. No, we’re on our own for this one. Come on, Yolene will have been waiting ages for us.”

The crowds disappeared around the side of the temple, as if Simetra had created a barrier only they were allowed to pass. Saphielle stood where they’d all parted a good half-a-day ago and cupped her hands to her mouth.

“Yol, where are you? It’s us. We have to leave, now, things have taken a bit of a turn.” Her foot tapped a sharp rhythm on the ground. They didn’t have time to be waiting. Whatever the Great Wyrm had done, it meant Brightfont was no longer safe for anyone. She had to get up that mountain and stop him. Simetra’s Peak was obscured by the temple but she knew it was there, waiting. “Yolene? Isak, help me look.”

“What? Oh, yes.” The boy’s arms were folded across his chest and he glanced up and down the street. The Great Wyrm’s power must really have shaken him as he’d hardly said a word since they reached the temple. The terrified energy of battle – or the threat of it at least – must have worn off.

She paced back and forth along the side of the temple with Isak trailing behind her like a puppy. Every doorway and alley, every discarded blanket or cloak. She checked them all but Yolene was nowhere and a fist of worry began to force its way down her throat. What with the Firthenite assault and those things at the Dain’s Court, even a fighter like Yolene could have fallen afoul. The thought was a glowing poker to her heart.

“We have to wait for her.” Yolene wouldn’t abandon her and that loyalty needed to be repaid.

“I don’t think we can, look.” Isak’s voice wavered and he stared past her. She spun and cold fear gripped her. Five dead Noonguard shuffled around the corner, one dragged a severed leg by the ankle, the stump bloody and torn.

“Fuck, what even are those things?”

“They’re Fiends.”

“You’re not wrong there. We can’t fight them, there’s too many.” If they’d come back from the dead once, what was to say they couldn’t do it again.

A hand came to rest on her shoulder. “Yolene would understand. She knows what you have to do, and if she could get a message to you, it would say to push on without her.”

She set her jaw, and took a step towards the creatures. How was it Isak had described them, fiends? It had a ring to it. Even if Isak was right – and how did he know what Yolene would say? – it was like leaving Barok all over again. Her brother had told her to go, and look where that had gotten him. How would she live with herself if the same thing happened to Yolene? But if she didn’t go, if she stayed and waited, and the Great Wyrm got its way, then it wouldn’t just be Yolene’s life lost, but Mirabelle’s and everyone else’s too.

Another couple of Fiends lumbered into view. They were slow, that at least was a blessing. She yelled wordlessly. The choices were both as terrible as each other.

Isak’s eyes were wide with fear and the grip on her shoulder tightened as the Fiends drew closed.

“Into the temple.” She barked the order and Isak flinched, but he turned as she did and they ran. The Fiends growled and shambled after them no faster than a leisurely stroll. The temple square was chaos. The throng of people fighting to get inside had only grown but those at the back now noticed the Fiends entering the square. The cry was swiftly picked up and repeated.

Saphielle slid between two groups, their accents marking one lot out as coast-folk and the other as forest dwellers, perhaps even from Forest Edge. Never an easy alliance, the stress of the situation had boiled over into name calling and the very real threat of violence.

Isak trailed after her and soon she managed to squeeze between enough people to enter the temple. The place smelled of stale incense and sweat and terror of a thousand people, a cloying fug that crawled up her nose and slithered into her lungs. Inside the temple it was more cramped than even the last time they’d been in there. The desperation and hopelessness was palpable and she fully understood why. Everything these people loved and knew was in danger of being torn away. If a troop of Firthenite soldiers marched into the temple in that moment, Saphielle had no doubt they’d be ripped apart. By hand, if nothing else could be found. But there wasn’t an enemy to turn their fear against, so it was dammed up inside, growing ever more dangerous.

“So what now? If we let everyone know there’s a way out, there’s only two ways it’ll end, neither of them good.”

Isak stroked the light smattering of fuzzy hair on his chin. She’d have to teach him to shave if they were together for much longer.

“There must be a thousand people in here, if not more. Why would any of them be concerning themselves with what we’re doing? Simply slip through the door, seal it behind us and carry on. We did it on the way out, why not the way in?”

Saphielle tapped him between the eyes. “You know, that’s not just somewhere to put your hat, is it? It’s a good plan but I’d feel more comfortable with something to take any lingering eyes off of us. Call me paranoid, but I don’t want hundreds of people following us through the tunnels. They might come out in the middle of the Firthenite camp for all I know and I don’t want their deaths on my conscience. Bear with me, I have an idea. Go and wait by the statue and I’ll be with you shortly.”

Isak duly obliged and she watched him go. Thank Simetra she’d found the boy in time. Who knows what would have happened to him if she hadn’t. Probably the same thing that had happened to those soldiers — an agonising and needless death.

The seasiders had made their way in and huddled in a group near the main door. There were maybe fifteen of them, with five men, perhaps seven women and three gangly youths growing into their newly lengthened limbs. The woodspeople were also grouped a short distance away. Several people of both groups sported bruised cheeks and rapidly blackening eyes. Saphielle made her way through the crowd towards them. She pulled the hood of her cloak up and, as she slipped past the coast folk, muttered something under her breath in as deep a voice as she could manage.

“Urgh, stinks like fish.”

One of the men whipped around. “Who fucking said that?”

Saphielle found the sanctuary of a pillar and turned to watch. The man had caught sight of the woodspeople and gestured rudely towards them. “That’s just typical of you tree-shaggers, you don’t have the stones to say things to my face. Cowards.”

A seasider with a twisted nose and a spit lip realised the man was shouting at them. He cracked his knuckles and roared an insult back.

Saphielle counted to ten on her fingers. Before she reached eight, the two groups had surged together and were grappling. She emerged from behind the pillar, her job almost done.

“Fight, come and see the fight. Place your bet!” she shouted. Anyone whose attention had not been grabbed by the initial scuffle was taken in by the offer of entertainment, no matter how violent. She forced her way through the thickening crowd towards the statue where Isak waited patiently.

“We just needed something more interesting than us. Are you ready?”

“This city is starting to feel like nothing more than a large prison cell. I’m ready.”

She pressed the arrowhead into the groove. Something clicked within the mechanism and the door opened a crack. With a final glance to ensure no wandering eyes were on them, she pushed Isak through and followed a moment later, shutting the door behind them with a final-sounding thunk.

Saphielle

Dain Forbes’ body looked strangely peaceful, if she ignored the gaping hole in his throat. The coolness of the vault had kept the corpses from spoiling, or it might have been the power of Simetra in the stone itself. Did she permit decay?

Isak retched behind her.

“Try not to look at him. It’s never easy, taking a life, and if it makes you feel any better, you’ve given the world a chance at survival.”

“I feel ill just thinking about it.”

His face had gone pale and his pupils were wide. There was a dampness at the corners of his eyes and his lip quivered. She threaded an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close to her side.

“Only the cruel find delight in killing. To protect yourself is not an evil thing, but most men don’t realise is that violence doesn’t have to be the first response. Keep your sensibilities as long as you can, they’re in short supply in this world.”

“And yet we’re only here to kill the Great Wyrm.”

“That’s different. That creature threatens our very existence and needs to be stopped. Sometimes, the only way is to remove a threat permanently.”

“Like Firthen?”

“No, what my father is doing is despicable and I hate him for it.”

“I don’t think it’s right either, I don’t think any of this war is. The more I’ve seen of it, the worse it gets. “

“Come on, let’s not dwell on things we cannot change right now. We have tunnels to find.” As if the vault had heard her, the veins of flamestone in the floor pulsed as they had done to lead her to the bow. It took them turning after turning after turning, and if they hadn’t been guided by the vestiges of Simetra’s power, they’d have been lost a hundred times over, but eventually they came to an archway with nothing but a spiral staircase beyond it leading down.

“I guess this is it,” she said. It had to be.

They walked in the light of the walls, following the steps deeper and deeper until they must have been in the very bowels of the earth. Eventually the stairs petered out and they entered a single tunnel. Cut marks scarred the grey stone where the tunnel had been hewn from the very ground. The glow of the flamestone in the walls stretched only a few yards into the tunnel. She took a small lantern from her pack and checked the oil reservoir. It had leaked a little in her race to and from the Dain’s Court, but hopefully there was enough left to get them through.

“The only way is onwards,” she said. If the labyrinth down here was anything like the vault above, it would require a small miracle to get them through.

“This is sending us west, we’ll need to turn northward as soon as we can.”

“How do you know that?”

“Always been good with directions. Need to get somewhere without getting lost? I’m your man.”

“Well, lead on, lord of the compass. Our fate is in your hands, because I’m as good with a map as a horse is with a book.”

They must have gone a mile west before they found a tunnel intersecting their own. It was wider and almost perfectly straight, disappearing out of the lantern light.

“This must be it, almost dead north,” Isak said.

“Brilliant!” She jumped up the small lip separating the two tunnels and offered Isak her hand to help him up after her. “I hope it’s not too far.”

The first tunnel had long disappeared from view when a strand of spiderweb brushed Saphielle’s face. She wiped it away. Strange to find spiders so far underground, usually they preferred the light at the fringes of caves. As long as it kept itself to itself, she’d be fine.

“Say, does this tunnel seem different to you? I can’t quite put my finger on it,” Saphielle asked.

“I’ve been thinking the same. It’s incredibly smooth, polished even. Why would anyone spend their time polishing the wall of a tunnel down here?”

A rumble rolled along the tunnel, bouncing off the smooth walls until it sounded like a stampede rushing towards them.

“I don’t think it’s someone who’s done this, I think it’s something, and it’s here. Run!”

She hoiked her pack high up on her back and accelerated along the tunnel. Isak’s footsteps beat the ground beside her and the lantern threw bizarre shadows onto the walls. In her mind, they formed terrifying beasts ready to leap out and devour them. The shattering roar of the thing behind them piled echo upon echo until the crescendo of sound was an avalanche of noise that tore her half-formed thoughts from her mind before she could interpret them. All she knew was that she had to get out of the way of whatever it was chasing them. The muscles in her legs screamed at her, burning red hot, but still she forced herself on. The light from the lantern fell behind, throwing a twisted, elongated facsimile of herself onto the curved, smooth stone of the tunnel’s floor.

“Faster,” she panted. Isak couldn’t reply between the ragged breaths he dragged into his lungs. If they didn’t find a junction or opening imminently, they would be caught, and she didn’t fancy facing something that dug tunnels as wide as the one they were in. As the tunnel curved around a corner, it bisected a natural fault in the rock and left a tight crevice exposed. She skidded to a halt, the polished stone threatening to take her feet out from underneath her, but she managed to keep her balance.

“In here.” She caught Isak as he reached her and near stuffed him into the crack, following him in. The tip of the bow caught on the edge as she ducked inside. She twisted around to free herself and as her head emerged from the crack she saw their pursuer. A strangled cough escaped her.

“What is it?” Isak’s head appeared next to hers, his body pressed up close. The rock dug into her back, but she couldn’t move. Not only because Isak was pinning her in place, but the sight of the creature in the tunnel had stolen all thought. An enormous jaw filled the tunnel, easily fifteen feet across and filled with concentric rows of churning teeth that would have no problem boring through rock. A halo of sickly green light surrounded it.

She’d heard about these. Vermis, great worms who once battled the Goddess Chaeta for supremacy of the deep places, but they were myths. The myth rushed on with the speed of a very real avalanche and was a mere twenty paces away when Saphielle realised that if she kept her head where it was she’d lose it. She dragged the bow into the crevice and pulled her head back, yanking on Isak’s collar for him to do the same. No sooner had they gone back into the safety of the crack than the worm thundered past. The same green light flashed past the mouth of the crack in waves, each burst illuminating Isak’s face frozen in a mixture of horror and wonder. When darkness returned it was absolute, the light from the worm having destroyed her night vision and the lantern having been blown out by the force of the wind the worm created.

“I have seen terror made flesh,” Isak whispered.

“Just you wait until you meet the Great Wyrm. I’ve only seen it once when it invaded my dreams and even the memory of that is enough to turn my insides to water.”

“I never thought it was that bad.”

“What do you mean? You’ve seen it too?” How was that possible? Surely the Great Wyrm didn’t appear to just anybody.

“I… I mean for what you’ve said it doesn’t sound that scary, but if you say it’s worse than that thing then I hope I never do have to see it.”

The suspicion ebbed away. She wriggled her legs free and shuffled back through the gap into the tunnel. “Where’s that lantern, I still have my… On second thoughts, we might not need it. Come out here.” Isak’s head popped out and his mouth mirrored hers, round in amazement. A film of slime covered the walls of the tunnel and where it gathered thickest it glowed green. Though the colour reminded her of sickness and decay, the sheer sight of it was astounding.

“They’d never believe this back in Lendas. If only Yolene could be here to see it too.”

“You’re still worried about her, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am. I’ve known her since we were children, we’ve shared almost everything and I wish I could share this with her too. I don’t even know if she’s alive, Isak, and that’s eating away at me. I know what I’m doing is more important than any single person, but it would make things easier if I knew she was safe.”

He squeezed her hand, but he kept his eyes on his feet. “I’m sure she is. She’s strong of heart and will, and if anyone knows how to look after herself, it’s Yolene.”

“I know she was hard on you, but she would have come around eventually. I’d have seen to that. Hopefully we can all be reunited in the future.”

Something warm touched the bottom of her foot. In the glow from the slime, a wisp of smoke curled up from the bottom of her shoes. A similar thing was happening to Isak’s. Lifting her foot to inspect the bottom, she found a hole burnt halfway through the sole of the shoe. Her brow creased in confusion as she checked the ground to make sure she hadn’t been standing on a stray ember or anything similar. All she could see was a pool of luminescent slime. She bent down and dipped a finger into it. The glow was transferred to her skin, but a moment later there was a sharp pain where the slime sat in a blob on her finger. She flicked her hand, throwing the slime onto the tunnel wall where it slid all the way down, leaving a sticky trail behind it.

“It’s the slime, it’s caustic. No wonder the walls are so smooth, they’re eroded by the slime and polished by the Vermis’ back. Don’t let it touch your skin.”

“Look ahead, there’s another tunnel bisecting this one.” They half hopped, half ran to the mouth of the second tunnel. Here and there a slimy residue was visible but it didn’t glow and, she hoped, didn’t burn.

“I wonder if Dain Conis realises there’s a creature like that living under her city, or the Lucins for that matter.”

“It’s a creature of the old magics. With the weakening of the Ilskini, these living relics are becoming bolder. It’s not the first I’ve seen on my travels.”

Saphielle raised an eyebrow. “You’ll have to tell me that story another time.”

What with all the running, her sense of direction had been completely thrown off. There was a chance they could be wandering around under the city until they died of thirst, or the worm caught them, and she dreaded to think what that would be like. Lots of teeth and acid. She shuddered.

“Any ideas which way to go?” she asked.

“If we follow the tunnel this way, assuming it stays in something of a straight line, it will take us north, which is where we want to be going. I can’t promise we’ll find a way up top though.”

“You just keep us pointing the right way. I’ll deal with the rest.”

She followed Isak’s guidance along the tunnels for what felt like hours. Every time the tunnel veered off or met another, he would pause and consider the options, sketching paths in the air with his fingers. To have that level of recall and innate direction would have made Isak valuable to all manner of people. Thankfully, he’d decided to come with her.

At points, they came across more glowing slime plastered across the rock, but mostly they relied on the lantern for light. She checked the reservoir of oil and sucked stale air in through her teeth. Less than a quarter remained.

“There’s something ahead,” Isak said from in front, waving her on to join him. She jogged over until she could see around the slight curve of the tunnel. Light pulsed, slow and rhythmic like breathing. She hooked the bow from her back and drew another arrow. It would be next to useless against the creature, but she felt better with a weapon in her hands. The tunnel came to an abrupt halt and they were staring down into a great bowl-like cavern. Its walls were thick with crusted slime. Stalactites of the stuff jutted from the ceiling like fangs, giving off a low light, but that wasn’t where the pulsing light emanated from. In the centre of the bowl at least three of the worms coiled together. Green light seeped through gaps in their hardened skin, brightening and dimming in unison. It was impossible to tell how long they were as they looped and coiled on top of each other.

On the walls of the cavern more tunnels opened up, a dozen of them at least.

“Which way now?” she asked.

“Whichever tunnel we take, we have to get across there. I don’t think we can get around the edge, it’s too smooth.”

“You can’t be serious, I’m not going to voluntarily walk up to them. That’s just begging to be eaten or dissolved. Surely there’s another route around.”

“There might be, but it’ll take me a long time to find it. On the other hand, I’m almost certain one of the tunnels on the far side will get us out.”

“And what makes you so sure?”

“The rock type has changed. What we’re seeing now is more typically associated with the Misttrace.”

She sighed and peered down at the worms again. They appeared to be sleeping, or their equivalent of that. Perhaps they could sneak past and get out the other side without alerting them.

“Alright then, but we have to be quick and we have to be quiet. Point me to the right tunnel and I’ll take the lead here.” Memories of stalking her fellow Noonguard through the forests around Lendas came back to her. She won those games, more often than not. The Wildcat of Alliquis, Dain Baku had called her once, having observed the trial. She’d need to channel every hair and whisker of wildcat if they were to get through the cavern alive. Returning the bow to her back, she climbed out of the tunnel and lowered herself down until her stomach rested on the tunnel’s lip.

“Watch where I put my hands and feet and try to copy them exactly.” The slime had hardened in bulges and ridges, a landscape as bizarre to her as the barren deserts of Raionia or the ice towns said to exist in the far south. The next foothold pressed painfully through the acid-thinned sole of her shoe. The congealed slime compressed a little as she placed her foot down. Thankfully, the acidic nature of the slime clearly faded as it dried, so instead of burning her skin, the worst she got when she touched a patch that had not completely dried was a tingle like a stinging nettle. It made for good climbing, giving her hands and feet enough tackiness that, even when her palms and fingertips became sweaty, they didn’t slip and throw her into the nest of creatures. There was a grunt above her.

“Hey, which of these nubs did you stand on?”

She glanced up to see Isak hanging by his arms, feet dangling a short distance above her. His arms shook and his face was pale.

“What do you think you’re doing? Keep three points–”

“Three points of contact on the wall, I know. This isn’t the first time I’ve climbed anything. I slipped.”

“I used the right one.” The boy placed his foot on the hold she indicated and readjusted his weight. She rolled her eyes and stepped down onto the next hold she had identified for herself. It snapped so suddenly that she had no time to even scrabble for balance. Her hands slipped from their holds and she tumbled down the last twenty yards of the wall before coming to rest in a heap. The sound of debris raining down around her was a roar in her ears. Bruises were already forming but that pain paled into insignificance against the fear that raged through her. She rolled to her feet as silently as she could but the damage was likely done. The bodies of the enormous worms heaved up and down not ten yards away. This close, their glow was almost blinding and a puddle of slime bubbled silently not two paces from where she’d landed. If she’d ended up in that, her screams would have woken not only the worms but everything else living in the tunnels. She held her breath, waiting for the beasts to surge into wakefulness at the intrusion, but they didn’t move. Isak clung to the wall above her head, his face pale as bone. She beckoned to him to continue his descent.

“Simetra must still be helping me,” she whispered in a voice barely audible.

“Let’s not stay any longer than we need to. That’s the mouth we’re aiming for.” He pointed to a dark opening.

Saphielle shuddered. “You could have used any other word, but no, you went for ‘mouth’.”

They crept around the very perimeter of the bowl, avoiding streaks of glowing worm slime and keeping as silent as they could. The occasional bone lay in their path, bleached a sickly yellow by a combination of the acid and the light from the worms.

“Does that look human to you?” Isak muttered.

“I don’t want to look too closely in case we’re the next ones to end up like that. Surely I’d have heard of any giant worm attacks if they were eating people. It’s more likely to be a goat or something that’s wandered down from the foothills.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Miraculously, they navigated across the bowl without waking the creatures. The entrance to the tunnel was lower than the one they had climbed out of, but the wall was as smooth as marble. Isak braced himself against the slime-encrusted stone.

“Use me as a ladder, then you can pull me up once you’re through. No, don’t argue, you’re stronger than I am, it’ll be easier for you to haul me up than the other way around.”

Saphielle shut her mouth again with a snap of teeth. In another life, she could have made an officer out of him. She stood on his knee and, balancing against the wall, used his shoulder as the next step up. The lip of the tunnel was agonisingly out of reach of her outstretched fingers.

“Sorry,” she said under her breath, then pushed off with both feet. For half a heartbeat she was airborne, then her hand closed around the edge of the tunnel and she pulled herself up. As she rose, another strand of spider silk broke across her lips. She spat it out and wiped the rest away.

“Are you up?” The boy couldn’t hide the worry from his voice. Left in a pit full of giant worms which could devour them on the spot. That would make anyone nervous. She squatted on the edge of the tunnel and reached down. Even with them both straining, there was still half a foot between them.

“You’ll have to run up the wall and jump. I’ll catch you, I promise.”

“Oh, you’d better.” He took three steps back, then launched himself up the wall. Isak may have been lithe and had an athletic build, but he was still in the throes of youth and hadn’t fully grown into his limbs. Watching him leap was like watching a heron fly, it managed it effectively but it was awkward in every way. She caught his hands in hers and heaved him up. Thankfully, he hadn’t gained the weight of adulthood yet and he fell on top of her as they rolled backwards into the tunnel.

“That actually wasn’t so bad,” he said, “and we managed it without waking those things up. Say, there’s a lot of spiders around. That’s the second or third time I’ve got web on my face.”

“I’m sure somewhere in the world that’s said to be lucky. You should–”

There was a groan as if the ground itself was creaking. The rasp of rough skin on rough skin filled the bowl. Saphielle pushed Isak off her and scrambled to the edge of the tunnel, but already knew what she would find. The Vermis coiled and writhed around each other for a moment before one erupted upwards and let loose an ear-piercingly shrill screech.

“I bloody hope you’re right about this being the way out.”

“Me too. Let me guess, we have to run again?”

“Unless you want to get up close and personal with the innards of one of those things, then yes.” She pushed him gently to get his legs turning over and together they hurtled up the tunnel. The slope became more and more pronounced the further along they got.

“Take the next right,” Isak panted. They swung around the corner without breaking stride, though her legs were starting to burn and her chest felt like it was being crushed under a rock. Isak must have been exhausted already. She glanced over her shoulder and, sure enough, the boy was flagging. His arms flopped as he ran and his feet barely got off the ground. White flecks coated his lips. He noticed her and pointed left. The tunnel became even steeper after the turn but there, in the distance, was a coin-sized circle of light. Strand after strand of spider-silk snapped as she sprinted through them but there was a slight breeze and upon it the waft of pine needles.

“We’re almost there,” she managed to spit between rasping breaths. She was answered by a familiar rumble that grew in volume even as she recognised it. Isak must have done too, as his footsteps came quicker and his breathing louder above the sound of the Vermis. The ground under her feet started to shake and the debris brought in from the surface vibrated. How cruel would it be to get caught now, with freedom in sight? The exit grew larger with every step and it was now the size of a plate. So close, yet she’d seen the speed of the Vermis and knew it meant nothing. What was the point in being a Goddess’ champion if she was unable to save her in moments of peril?

“Last bit, push hard and we can rest soon.” She croaked the same platitudes she had been given on the gruelling training runs Dain Baku had forced them to do, at dawn in full armour and carrying a pack of rocks. The worst part was that it had no effect on her. Her eyes flicked up the tunnel. The plate had become a shield and she guessed they were no more than half a minute away. Then she made the mistake of looking back.

The green glow of the Vermis rushed towards them far faster than her own tired legs could manage. Its teeth churned around the circumference of its mouth in a maelstrom of slashing chitin. They weren’t going to make it. Isak was falling behind and images of him being torn apart flashed uninvited into her mind. How had they awoken the creatures, and how had the Vermis known where they were? She’d seen no evidence of eyes or a nose, they must have other ways of tracking their prey. The answer hit her like an arrow. The spider silk, except it wasn’t spider silk, it was something produced by the Vermis – a tripwire in all intents and purposes – and when they triggered it, the Vermis felt it somehow. Perhaps in that way it was like a spider’s web, carrying vibrations and signals to the creatures.

Either way, that knowledge was useless now. The worm knew where they were and there was a straight line between them and the exit. It was down to a flat race and there was only going to be one winner.

The wall of the tunnel halfway between them and the Vermot exploded, chunks of rock hitting the far side with enough force that they burst open like eggs. Another of the creatures erupted from it, stopping briefly to change direction before launching itself forward. This close, Saphielle could see how its body rippled as it moved. She skidded to a halt and Isak dashed past her before he could stop.

“Keep going,” she shouted after him. “I’ll hold them off.” Rummaging around in her bag she found the crystal she’d taken from the dead Noxum.

“You’ll be killed,” Isak replied, slowing, hesitating between getting himself to safety and coming back to her. She shooed him away. He wasn’t fast enough to get out without intervention. The crystal was cool in her palm, its many facets reflecting the light of the Vermis, trying to fight back with its own weak glow. She’d seen the Noxum suck the power right out of the rock and hurl it like a stone. There wasn’t enough time to learn that particular trick, but she had one of her own up her sleeve. She yanked on the cord holding the arrowhead around her neck and pulled it free. With Simetra’s token in one hand and the mooncrystal in the other, she drew on the Goddess’ power. It welled in her as it had done before, filling her with warmth and light, a light she guided from her core along her arm and into the hand holding the crystal. It was a long shot, one that could just as easily fail as not, but it was all she had. She released the light into the crystal and allowed the competing powers of Simetra and Amul to mingle.

The light in the crystal swirled, blue and orange in a dance together but never mixing. For good measure she gave it a firm shake then hurled it down the tunnel into the path of the onrushing Vermis. It bounced once, twice, then exploded with a force that knocked her off her feet. The first Vermis took the brunt of the blast, green light spilling from its broken hide. Then the ceiling of the tunnel collapsed and hid them from view.

Saphielle

Saphielle limped out of the tunnel, shaking shards of rock out of her hair. Dust fell off her in clouds, drifting in a shaft of morning sunlight. No wonder she felt like lying down and sleeping right there and then, they’d been underground all night, not to mention having run for their lives on more than one occasion. The damp air heightened the scent of pine surrounding them.

“You made it, thank the Ilskini.” Isak crashed into her and crushed her ribs in an embrace. “Using the crystal, that was genius.”

“I just wish I’d thought of it sooner.” She turned back to the collapsed tunnel, still billowing plumes of dust. “There goes any way back, if we want to return to Brightfont, it’ll be the long way.” They had covered a good two miles underground and bypassed the battlefield in its entirety. The city walls were visible over the tops of the pines that lined the lower mountain slopes. Tiny figures moved on the ramparts, scores of them, if not hundreds, gathering on the top of the wall, their spears like splinters. The discordant blast of war horns rolled across the plain. Flashes of light burst like fireworks. Beautiful at a distance, but she knew they only carried pain and death.

“The Firthenites are assaulting the city again.” Across the plain, black squares moved in formation. Thousands upon thousands of troops, all those she had seen camped from where Brightfont’s defenders now stood, ranged against that white enclave. There was no sign of the army her father had brought from Lendas. If they didn’t arrive, the city would be overrun with ease. Not that it mattered if she failed in her task. If she failed, then Alliquis and Firthen both would be plunged into an endless winter and the dead would multiply a hundredfold.

How could her father not see this callous waste of lives in the name of their Goddess went against everything Simetra taught? Queen Palona also. She’d only met the monarch of Firthen once, at a banquet when she was no older than thirteen summers. She’d considered the woman to be a firm ruler, but fair and level-headed. Certainly not one to succumb to mindless violence.

She turned her gaze to the peaks. Not three hundred feet above her, the hardiest of the trees gave up and the ground became bare stone with patches of dirt in which a few gnarly shrubs twisted about their roots. Beyond them loomed the rest of the mountain, disappearing into the bottom of the clouds.

“We really have to go up there, huh?” Isak asked.

“If we want our world to remain as we know it, we have no choice. We should get started, I reckon it’s at least two days to the top, three if there’s trouble.”

“Do you expect trouble?”

“It seems to follow me wherever I go, why would this be any different? First things first, though, I need to get rid of these damn shoes. The pine needles are stabbing through the soles.” She perched on a fallen log, unlaced them and kicked them off. The leather soles had been worn through and in some places had dissolved entirely. Half a needle poked up between her toes and she flicked it away. From her pack she rooted out the boots and pulled them on.

“Much better, how are yours?”

Isak leant against a trunk and pulled his foot up to get a better look at the bottom of his own boots. They were well made things, with hobnails hammered into the heel.

“They’ve survived.”

“Where did you get those from? They’re better than the ones issued to Noonguard cadets for sure.”

His eyes glazed over for a moment. “My mentor gave them to me. That seems like a lifetime ago now.”

“Well, they knew quality when they saw it. In boots and apprentices.” She finished tying her laces and rose from the log. “You’ve got sap on you, by the way.”

Where Isak had rested on the tree was a sticky patch of resin.

“I’ll keep this safe, it’s good for starting a fire.”

That made her smile. Isak always managed to find the best in everything, just as Barok had done. It dawned on her that she was starting to see the boy more and more like a little brother. The notion was a good one, but there was a tinge of worry alongside it that she was somehow tarnishing the memory of her true brother. She knew that she could never forget their bond, and that had only been strengthened by Barok’s selfless decision to sacrifice himself so that she could escape, but smaller memories were already fading. The tone of his laugh, and the feel of his hand as it tousled her hair, she knew they had existed but the details were now unclear.

“Alright,” she said, snapping herself out of her reverie, “we quite literally have a mountain to climb so we’d best have at it.”

Quickly the slope became steep enough to steal their voices. The naked stone gave them little grip, but even that was better than when they reached the snow line. In whichever crack or hold Saphielle tried to place her boot she found snow. Every time she grabbed onto the rock, it sapped her body heat. It found its way into her boots too, melting there and leaving her feet sodden and the leather rubbing. The higher they got, the more clothes they donned until their packs were almost empty and their bodies had doubled in size with the additional layers. Even with all that, it didn’t stop the bitter wind from slicing through her. She’d stopped shivering a couple of hours back. She knew that was a bad thing, but couldn’t remember why.

“Is that the top?” Isak asked weakly. Saphielle had barely shifted her gaze from her boots for hours. She stretched her neck, which popped satisfyingly. A jagged peak rose above them with nothing but a lilac sky beyond it.

“I bloody hope so. At this point I’d rather face the Great Wyrm than climb any more.” A chuckle died in her chest as the cold reality of what awaited them at the top of the mountain rammed itself home. “We should be able to get up over there, and it’ll provide some shelter from this wind.” She pointed to a slope of scree running down the edge of a crag. It took them almost an hour to reach it. The loose rock slid under her feet as she steadied herself against the crag. It was much steeper than it had looked from a distance.

“Are you sure about this?”

“We’ve got to get up there somehow. Sure, we could spend another day finding an easier route, but how many people will die in the meantime?”

“How many will die if we fall and break our necks?”

“Look, no one is forcing you to come with me. Go back to Brightfont if you like, but I’m getting to the top of this mountain as quickly as possible.”

Isak’s face fell as if she’d slapped him. He cleared his throat and adjusted his satchel, falling in behind her like a beaten pup.

She sighed, suddenly guilty. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped.”

“You’re right, though. At some point in our lives, we have to take a risk, even when the consequences for failure are significant. I guess that’s what this whole thing is about, right? Throwing ourselves off the cliff and hoping the ground will catch us.”

“There’ll be no jumping off cliffs on my watch, but we do have to climb this one. One final push.”

Daylight was fading rapidly by the time the top of the peak came into view. Though they were high up the mountain and there was snow on the ground, her back was slick with sweat underneath her layers. She couldn’t decide what was worse, the scree slope where rubble slipped and slid under her feet with every step, or the final near-vertical section that had them scrambling like mountain goats. Eventually, she found the top of the cliff and pulled herself up and over it, rolling onto her back and closing her eyes for a moment. If the Great Wyrm had been waiting for her at the top, she’d have been unable to put up any semblance of a fight. Thankfully, she appeared to be alone, at least until Isak joined her, panting hard. She cracked her eyelids open and cast an eye over their surroundings.

“You are… bloody joking,” she said between deep lungfuls of thin air. Not a hundred feet away another, taller cliff face thrust up through the snow. Its black stone was dusted with snow that had gathered in the cracks and settled on any ledge large enough to hold it.

“No, that’s just cruel. I can’t tackle that tonight, we’ll have to wait ‘til morning or my heart will explode halfway up.”

“Agreed. In some ways, I’m glad there is further to go. Unless I get a few hours’ sleep, I’ll be about as much use as stone kindling. We’ll make camp, as much as we can, at the base of the cliff.”

“Now you’re talking my language.”

‘Making camp’ comprised the clearing of a patch of ground just large enough for the two of them to lie in. They shovelled the snow using the flatter rocks they found across the plateau, and when they broke they used their bare hands. By the time they had something approaching a campsite the sun had fully set.

“Here, make the most of it, for there’s not a great deal left.” Saphielle handed Isak a ration pack from her bag and took one for herself. Compared to the grand feasts her father used to host, the contents of the ration were worse than pig swill, but she appreciated the simple fare. When a person had too much in their lives, they stopped taking joy in the little things, like the cube of hard cheese she let melt in her mouth. Isak broke the silence that had fallen after they’d finished eating.

“For years, ever since I was a young boy, I’ve looked at this mountain and dreamt about what it would be like to come here. Now I’m scaling it, I wish for nothing but to be elsewhere.”

“I know it’s hard going now, but I hope you get the opportunity to look back on this time when you’re old and white-haired, and appreciate what you achieved.”

Isak smiled for a moment, but it swiftly faded. “Have you really thought about what awaits us at the top?”

“I’ve thought about it, but it’s something I’d rather face when we get up there. Else, I fear my nerves will fail me.”

They huddled closer together to share the warmth of their bodies. Saphielle would have given anything in that moment to have a fire, but they had passed the last remnants of deadwood hours ago.

“How are you even meant to fight something like that? It’s not normal. Does it even bleed like we do?”

“I have put my faith in the Goddess. Whilst it is in our interest to defeat the Great Wyrm, it is also in hers. He threatens her power and the power of the Ilskini. If I have learned anything about people who hold power, it is that they will do anything to keep it, even to the detriment of logic.”

She took an arrow from her pack. The black fletching marked it out as Firthenite, but it was well made. With the tip of her knife she prised the head from the shaft. Was two feet of ash enough to kill something as great as the Wyrm? The arrowhead around her neck pulsed warmth in answer and she took it out, sliding it from the chain for the first time since she’d found it.

“Power and responsibility walk hand in hand,” said Isak. “It’s a shame so few of our leaders truly realise this. But it’s a depressing subject, tell me about your daughter.”

That brought a smile to her face. “She is the most perfect human. She is the reason I am here. She is the reason I have risked everything. I want her to grow up in the same world that I did. I wish for her to have safety, food, and love. Especially love.” She sniffed and scratched her eye with the back of her hand. Did it come away damp? No, it must have been a flake of snow melting. Her frozen fingers fiddled with the arrowhead as she bound it to the shaft with cord.

“You know, even in the world we currently live in there are people who do not have those luxuries. My family, when they were alive, struggled to put food on the table. I was lucky that I had a talent and they could apprentice me to the local map maker. That way I was able to earn a meagre living, but Wilden also provided me with food, a roof, and tutelage. Had the war not happened, I would have been set for a comfortable job as his assistant, and then, once my craft was honed, a job as an artisan in my own right. I was one of the few from my village that had the opportunity to dream of better things. The world you grew up in? It’s alien. Part of me thinks that a reset will do the world good. It will break the stranglehold that kings and queens have over us and will allow men and women to stand by their own strengths.”

“I disagree. No matter what circumstances humans find themselves in, some will always grab power, and they will always trample on those weaker than them. The only way to make true equality happen is for those in power to willingly give it away. I am next in line to the throne of Alliquis, and I will make it my mission as ruler to lift all my people, and not just those who see themselves as the privileged few.”

“That will ruffle a lot of feathers. Are you sure you’re ready for the pushback?”

“Hey, if I can defeat the Great Wyrm then a few pissed off Dains won’t phase me. You’ve got to be the change you want to see in the world, or else we all sit around dreaming of a better place but not doing anything about it. I hope you’ll consider being a part of that change with me?” With the last of the twine, she lashed the arrow to the bow.

“I’d love to. I’ve got no inclination to return home, so a fresh start would do me good. Let’s get past the first barrier though, and to do that we’ll need to be rested.”

“You’re not wrong,” she replied. “Sleep well. What we face tomorrow will not be easy by any stretch. I don’t hold you to any obligation to place your life in the same danger that I will be, but I appreciate your support so far.”

“Don’t you worry, I’ll be with you until the end. Whatever that may be.”

He nestled into the hollow and she pressed in against him. For that moment, she was able to forget about the Great Wyrm and Simetra and champions. Her eyes closed and she drifted into an exhausted sleep.

Ashuto

He was walking along a forest path. Pine and spruce lined the edge, their needles a pallet ranging from the blue-green tint of the oldest needles to the vibrancy of newest growth. Their trunks were puzzles of bark and lichen. The scent of tree sap perfumed the air with its heavy sharpness and a breeze rustled the branches until they whispered secrets and stories long forgotten by men, for these were old trees and their roots ran deep and ancient.

A memory stirred. He’d walked this way before, perhaps more than once. Gathered mushrooms from between the roots of these very trees. Around the next bend was a village. He knew that, though he could not say how that knowledge came to be. His feet followed the path. Dead needles carpeted the ground in a thick blanket through which he ploughed furrows with his boots.

The village came into view. A collection of rustic hovels constructed from wood and arranged in a loose horseshoe. Stone chimneys protruded from the few larger buildings and threads of smoke drifted lazily from the tops, catching in the wind and dancing in the air. He headed directly for a smaller cottage in the middle of the crescent. A woman appeared from inside and stood on the raised porch, sweeping it with a besom of twigs. He felt the same recognition for this woman as he had for the village. The woman’s face split in a welcoming smile as she leant the broom against the wall of the house and beckoned for him to come nearer.

“Ashuto, my darling, you look cold. Come inside and sit by the fire. Dinner won’t be long and your father and brother should be back from the blacksmith soon.” She turned and disappeared into the house. He followed her inside. The interior of the house was simple but homely. A sturdy wooden table sat against one wall with four chairs around it. Over the back of one was draped a woollen blanket. The red of its weave was the brightest colour in the room apart from a vase of fresh meadow flowers on the windowsill. He knew that blanket. It was special to him, but he could not recall why. Someone had made it for him, he was certain of that.

“I forgot to thank you for the flowers, they’re beautiful.” The woman reappeared from a separate room carrying a steaming bowl. She set it on the table and gestured for him to sit and eat. He lowered himself into the chair with the blanket. As soon as the coarse wool brushed his skin he knew he was home, and that the woman feeding him was his mother. How could he have forgotten? A glow spread through his body. A feeling he had long since forgotten returned as the smell of stew wafted from the bowl. He was content.

The door opened again with a squeal. That top hinge had needed oiling for as long as he could remember. His father promised at least once a week that he’d smear some grease on it to loosen it up, but he never did. It was his father that appeared in the door frame. His tall figure bent to fit under the lintel without hitting his head.

“You don’t want to know how much I’ve just paid for these nails. I swear they get more expensive every time I buy more. Oh, Ashuto, you’re back.” Man and boy grinned at each other. He rose to step into his father’s embrace, but a small, black-haired projectile hit him at full ramming speed.

“Ash, I’ve missed you. I’m glad you’re home, we can finish that den now can’t we? Please.”

“Come away and leave your brother to eat his dinner in peace.” The smaller boy crossed his arms and stuck his bottom lip out, but he obeyed his father.

Ma bustled across and brushed a stray leaf off Pa’s shoulder. “There we go, you’re as bad as the boys.”

Kanto, his tantrum already forgotten, bounced over and buried himself in Ma’s skirts. Ashuto felt as if he was lying in a warm bath. Everything in that moment was perfect. A strange image of snow and blood and fangs flashed into his mind momentarily, but he dismissed it. He’d finish off his stew then go and help Kanto with the den out the back. His Ma and Pa and brother held each other with a love in their eyes that he felt even from the other side of the room.

Then the sunlight dimmed to a stormy grey and a fierce gust of wind slammed the door shut, extinguishing the few candles that had lit the darker corners of the house. A blizzard of ice whipped around the three of them. Their expressions turned from joy to terror.

“Ma, Pa,” he heard himself shout.

“They cannot hear you.” That voice he knew immediately. The Great Wyrm’s deep laugh filled the house. “All your family knows now is darkness and cold and hunger, but I have the power to change that.”

The full weight of memory hit him. His family were dead, weren’t they? Killed the day he left Crayford by Simetra’s Final Arrow.

“Ah, now he understands. Your family survived the attack, some of the lucky few that did. I would show you their current situation, but I fear it would only upset you and distract you from your task.”

“Show me!” The happiness of that family moment dissolved in an instant.

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“I need to see them.” If they were alive then why had he spent the last few months of his life seeking the downfall of the Ilskini? The blood that stained his hands need not have been spilt.

“As you wish.”

The ice around his family blasted outwards, striking him with the cold force of a blizzard. The scene faded into shadow and, when it re-materialised, he gasped. The forest glade village he had grown up in was no more. It hadn’t even survived as well as the burnt out villages he’d passed on his incursion into Alliquis. Not a single timber remained standing, as if it had been deliberately deconstructed. Shards of wood and piles of rocks marked where the buildings had once been but beyond that, there was no sign that a village had ever existed here. Movement at the edge of the tree line caught his attention.

A small boy poked his grimy face out from behind a trunk and scanned the area for danger. Beneath the caked-on dirt and grime, Ashuto recognized his younger brother and he wanted to cry, though he did not know if that was possible inside a dream.

Kanto’s cheeks were hollow, his eyes sunk into his head. Where there had been puppy fat, there was now nothing but a skeletal gauntness. The boy darted out from behind his tree and dashed into the clearing. He dug amongst the rubble and emerged moments later clutching something that looked like a rat. It squirmed and the boy beat its head on a rock until it was still.

The ground shook suddenly, accompanied by a sound like distant thunder. Kanto looked up and Ashuto followed his gaze. On the far side of the clearing, the tops of the trees shook as if that winter storm had taken them in its grip, but nothing else moved. Then came another thump and more trees shaking.

“Kanto, come back.” From the tree his brother had hidden behind came the voice of his mother. He moved closer to get a better look. She huddled there in the shadow of the mighty tree, looking just as thin as Kanto. “Come back before it sees you,” she pleaded in a hushed tone. She had always dressed so well, even if the garments were simple, but now wore nothing more than a sack with a hole cut for her head and her arms. It was patched in several places and torn in others. Kanto, keeping a tight hold on the dead rodent, sprinted back across the clearing and under the trees. Moments later, one of the trunks on the far side of the clearing snapped, sending the tree crashing down into the open space, splinters and small branches, flying. A hulking shape moved in the shadows. He caught glimpses of it, its skin grey and bark-like. He caught a flash of yellowing tusk as the creature turned and patches of coarse, dark hair as it slowly ambled back into the trees. Ashuto caught a flick of a short, stout tail before the creature disappeared again.

“What was that?” he asked.

“A creature long since forgotten to humankind. I said the power of the Ilskini was weakening and that allows beasts like this to reawaken and emerge back into the world of man.”

Ashuto looked over his shoulder where Kanto had disappeared. All three of them stood there now, hiding. Ma, Pa and Kanto. He moved closer to them. Pa had one arm wrapped around them both, but the other was missing from just above the elbow. The stump was wrapped in dirty cloth and the rest of him, as was true for the others, was covered in filth.

“This pitiful excuse is what passes for their existence. I will give you a choice. If you defeat Simetra’s champion, I will pluck them from this pathetic life and elevate them to the same rewards as I have promised to grant you. You will all live out your remaining days in luxury as I build my new world. If, however, you fail, or for some inexplicable reason choose to defy me, what I shall do to your family will make death look like mercy. Their screams shall echo for eternity and I will make you watch as I do it. Once I have reduced them to dust, I will do the same to you.”

The shadows swirled again, converging on him and culling all light. Dark tendrils grew around him. From that black vortex flashed images that turned his stomach to ice.

People still alive but with their skin flayed off. Bones charring and burning while still inside their bodies and a score more atrocities too harrowing to describe. A deep voice rolled through the screams.

“You have a choice. Pray you make the correct one.”

Ashuto woke with a jolt. It felt like the very snow of the mountain ran through his veins, making his heart beat at twice the normal speed and forcing him to take short, sharp breaths. To his relief, he glimpsed stars through gaps in the cloud cover. A loose rock dug painfully into his shoulder where he’d rolled on top of it. All that grounded him back into the real world where the horrors of the Great Wyrm’s visions had not come to pass, at least not yet.

For a while he lay there, listening. Saphielle’s breath came deep and regular. Fabric rustled on fabric as her chest moved and in the distance a bird of prey screeched eerily. Once he was sure she was asleep, he shuffled and extracted himself from under her arm and rolled clear. The dream had left his legs shaking, so he braced himself against the rock until the feeling had passed. Patchy clouds allowed light from the thinnest of waxing moons to drift down. In another life, he’d have stared at that moon and prayed to Amul. Something irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. How many of those throwaway prayers had come to pass? Not many.

The pale circle of Saphielle’s face stood out against the dark material of her cloak. Hanging heavy on his hip was the dagger she’d given him way back when. He drew it, the keen edge reflecting the stars.

Kill her.

It was as simple as that, and yet those two words held the weight of the mountain. If he did it, he’d see his family again, but he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. If he didn’t, then he wouldn’t live at all, and neither would his ma or pa or little Kanto.

How could he do it? How could he kill someone he considered a friend, his only friend if he was honest. The murder of Yolene stained his soul, but this would rip it apart. Maybe if Saphielle had listened to Yolene, a girl she’d known since childhood, rather than a boy she’d met in a swamp, then he wouldn’t have to make this choice. Yolene would still be alive and he’d likely be dead, and the fate of Gods and Wyrms would be beyond his influence.

The act itself would be easy. One swift strike, either across her throat or directly into her heart. She would gurgle her last breaths as her blood stained the snow and the light dimmed in her eyes, staring up at him knowing he’d betrayed her. Then all he would have to do was live with the pain of it for the rest of his days. He looked down at the dagger in his hand. He’d thought it a beautiful object once, now it was a symbol of everything he dreaded.

A sliver of wrist peeked out between his glove and sleeve. Purple veins criss-crossed beneath the skin. He pressed the knife to it and winced as the cold steel drew blood. A single quick drag would take the decision out of his hands. The coward’s way out. He pulled his hand away, wiping the blood on the hem of his cloak. In his pocket the scale thrummed. He took it out. The new life the Great Wyrm had told him lived within swirled around, twin dots of light forming patterns and shapes. He could hurl it to the ground and ram the knife through it, destroying whatever kindled inside. If it sprung from the Great Wyrm, how could it bring anything but misery? He gripped the hilt so that his knuckles stood out white as bone and took the final step so that he stood over Saphielle’s sleeping form. His will or his strength would fail him if used only his arm. He would drop his whole weight through the dagger and not give Saphielle a chance. Yes, that was the best option, and he wouldn’t have to look at her face as he did it.

“Isak, what are you doing?” Saphielle looked up at him. Her eyes settled first on the knife then drifted to the Wyrm scale. “Put the blade down, whatever you’re thinking, you don’t need to do it.”

“I do. I really do.”

“No, you don’t, Isak. It’s me, Saphielle, remember? You know me. We’ve been travelling together since we met in the Blackmire swamp.” She spoke softly and calmly, as if he was a frightened dog or spooked horse.

“My name is not Isak. My name is Ashuto Ahearn, the Great Wyrm’s champion.” There was a waver in his voice he fought to bring under control. His hands shook and the corners of his eyes prickled with tears. He held the scale aloft, hoping it would impart to him the strength he needed to murder the woman before him.

“Your token, I presume. I should have guessed there was something suspicious when I found you at the Dain’s Court. I think you should put the dagger down, Ashuto. I’ll let you walk away unharmed.”

“You don’t understand, the lives of my family rest on this. I truly am sorry.” He screwed his eyes shut and lunged. The blade plunged into something, but it was soft and cold and his fist punched through the crust of snow where Saphielle had been. A boot caught him on the side of the head and he staggered.

The Princept stood opposite, her own dagger drawn and held in a backhand grip. Their packs sat half a dozen yards away with the hilt of Saphielle’s sword sticking out tantalisingly. Now Saphielle was awake, he’d need that weapon to have any chance against her.

“All this time you’ve been lying to me? I trusted you, looked out for you. I saved your fucking arse from that bear. Fuck, I should have left you to get eaten.”

“I saved your life too, don’t forget. Dain Forbes didn’t look like he wanted a civil conversation.” He didn’t have to mention the fact he thought Forbes had been Simetra’s champion. As he spoke, he inched closer to the sword.

“I wish you hadn’t. I’d rather have taken my chances against my father. You know what happened to Yolene as well, don’t you? Argh, I feel so stupid. She was right not to trust you and I didn’t listen, now I guess she’s dead.”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen. I’m sorry.”

“Fuck you and your apologies.” She darted forward and slashed at his throat. The blade passed a hair’s breadth from his windpipe as he jerked his head back.

“I didn’t know who you were when we met. I swear.”

“But you know now, and you’ve lied to me since. Stabbed me in the back. At least I have the good grace to stab you through the heart.” The knife flashed towards his stomach, driving upwards, and he folded himself in half to avoid it. With the element of surprise gone it would take a miracle, or an intervention from the Great Wyrm, to survive this fight, but he couldn’t roll over and die. Springing back up, he jabbed the blade at Saphielle’s face. She swayed aside as gracefully as a willow in the breeze but it bought him a precious moment to take a breath and try to tame his racing heart.

“My biggest regret is there’s no way to resolve this without one of us dying.”

“I don’t know, the sight of your blood leaking into the snow sounds good to me. You don’t realise what this means to me. Actually, you do. Everything I’ve told you about myself, about Mirabelle, was true. Was anything you told me not a lie?”

“Until an hour ago, I thought my family was dead. Killed in the attack on Crayford. Not by an army, but by a force of magic so powerful it destroyed half the town. Your father didn’t have to watch as skin melted from bones — he was hundreds of miles away— but those people, my people, died in agony.”

“Why do you think I’m doing this, you stupid bastard? I’ve seen what my father has done. I’ve tried to stop it, but there will be nothing left to stop if we don’t defeat the Great Wyrm first, because if we don’t, you can increase the number of dead a hundredfold, and it won’t be mostly fighting men and women. It’ll be the old and the very young who die first, of cold or starvation, then the ill and then the rest of us.” Her arguments were nearly impossible to disagree with apart from one thing.

“This war is about which of our patron deities is the correct one to follow, as if that matters. If there was no choice, if the Great Wyrm removed that debate, there would be no war to fight.” They both kept their blades up, circling around each other with knifepoints levelled at each other’s chests, though his shook a damn sight more than Saphielle’s did.

“You’re either naive or foolish. Humans will always find something to fight over. This time it is our religion, if there was no religion it would be over land or gold or which fucking colour their flag is. We kill each other, it’s what we do.”

He jabbed at her face, but she caught his wrist and pushed him aside, slashing a burning line across his arm. He stumbled through the snow and clutched his spare hand to the wound. Blood leaked between his fingers.

“Please, Saph, at least let me go. I’ll return to Firthen and you’ll never see me again.”

Saphielle folded her arms and pursed her lips as she considered the suggestion. Then her expression hardened.

“No.”

It was the answer he’d expected. The back and forth attacks had brought him the closest to the sword. She was a Noonguard-trained Princept of Alliquis, he was nothing but a boy who once dreamt about drawing maps. In a straight fight, it wouldn’t even be a contest. He threw the knife, not caring which end hit her, and dived for the hilt. Saphielle sidestepped, the dagger spinning harmlessly away towards the edge of the cliff, and hurled herself into his path. Her shoulder ploughed into his sternum, sending him tumbling aside towards the slope they had climbed up earlier.

She didn’t even bother drawing the sword. As he unsteadily regained his feet, she lashed out with a solid boot.

It crashed into the side of his face and black spots exploded across his vision. The iron taste of blood filled his mouth and flooded the back of his throat. What was he doing? How did he ever think a boy like him could fit into this game of Gods and beasts? He turned to run, but Saphielle grabbed the strap of his satchel and hauled him towards her, the tip of her knife getting ever closer.

He pictured the steel passing through the soft flesh of his belly and the blood drained from his face. Neither of them needed to die if he ran. Saphielle would have won the battle of the champions and he would live. With Saphielle ready to fight the Great Wyrm, and defeat it if the creature’s predictions were anything to go by, he was sure he’d be able to find and rescue his family before the Great Wyrm exacted his threat.

He brought his arms up and slipped out of the leather strap binding him and Saphielle together. With the extra weight gone, they both fell backwards. Then his knees gave out beneath him and something hard and jagged connected with the back of his skull.

Pel

I could count the number of hours I managed to sleep that night on a single finger. Every time I got close to drifting off, images of glowing eyes or white, scaly faces would intrude on my thoughts and jolt me awake again. With the exertion of rescuing Michela, I finally fell into an exhausted half-sleep an hour before dawn before being woken by the light and Rawl’s early-morning chuntering. I cracked my eyes open to see the old man lick his finger and hold it up into the grey sky.

“It’s not far away,” he muttered.

“What’s not far away?” I asked, stifling a yawn.

“My boot up your arse for being nosy. Seeing as you’re up, you can help chivvy the rest of these layabouts into some semblance of movement. There’s a strangeness to this wind that I don’t care for and the quicker I’m inside Brightfont’s walls, the better.”

“How can wind be strange? It’s wind, it either blows or it doesn’t.”

“Don’t ask stupid questions and just do what you’re asked. You’re worse than a four-year-old with your incessant curiosity.”

I was saved from further chastening by Orbur, who arrived back at the camp with a dead Frosthawk in her hand. She held it up by its taloned feet and its wings fell open, showing off its fearsome wingspan.

“I got us some breakfast.”

Rawl practically recoiled in horror. “You shouldn’t have done that. I’ve told you already that it’s bad luck to kill a Frosthawk.”

“I didn’t. I went to scout out our path and found it. I can’t see what killed it, but the body was fresh and I can’t leave a meal lying on the ground.”

“I’m sure we all appreciate the gift, but we’ve got no fire and no way of cooking it,” I said.

“I forget you humans have a thing against raw meat. Oh well, all the more for me.” She maintained eye contact with me as she took a bite out of the bird’s breast. Blood dribbled sluggishly down her chin and she spat out a mouthful of feathers.

“Disgusting,” Rawl muttered.

“Food is food,” the Hunter replied.

“Too right.” Harunath had managed to appear behind us in silence. “Get that butchered and we can share out the meat. We’ll eat as we walk. There’s a fair way to go today, but we’ll be at Brightfont by the end of it. No need to stop at the last Sanctuary as it’ll only slow us down and that’s the last thing we need.”

We were interrupted by Ileta banging a pot with the pommel of her knife. I couldn’t help but think of the eyes in the crevice and how they would react to this unwelcome wake-up call. Thankfully they had either been a figment of my exhaustion-addled mind or they were heavy sleepers and we got everyone awake and ready to march in good time.

I nudged Rawl in the ribs. “After all this, I don’t want to spend another night outside of walls in my entire life.”

“I pray you don’t have to, though I fear you’ll be disappointed. A life is a long time. None of us know what lies ahead and hopes are often dashed.” He sounded oddly sombre, as if someone had delivered him some bad news. Then he shook his head and his scowl returned. “That’s why I hope for nothing. Shouldn’t be disappointed that way, yet I still am. I blame you youngsters for that.”

Harunath held up a hand and silence fell. Since the White Wyrm attack and subsequent vote of no confidence, he’d slowly regained his aura as leader. My support of him had barely wavered, but once again he commanded the allegiance of all who’d stayed, Treti included.

“This is the last stretch of our journey. By dusk I hope to have seen your ugly faces for the last time, or at least until the journey back. I know our travels have been beset with problems and I acknowledge and apologise for my part in that, but I ask of you now to expend the last of your energy to get us to Brightfont in good time, where hopefully we’ll find the group who decided to press on to the Sanctuary last night. One more push, ladies and gentlemen, and you’ll be relaxing in a hot bath before the day is out.”

As usual, what was left of our Hunter escort scouted ahead, keeping an eye out for any last threats that might hinder our passage. Michela was strapped to Harunath’s back using strips of material from a torn-up cloak. Her leg was an angry purple where the bruise had come up overnight around the splint. She was lucky to escape her fall with just the one injury, but her ability to walk in future would be compromised if the break wasn’t seen to properly in Brightfont.

We started at a decent pace, covering a good five or six miles across flat ground in the first two hours of the morning before a Hunter appeared. As they came around a large ice spike I feared the worst.

“Sanctuary sighted!” the Hunter called and a ripple of laughter ran through the group, a vent to the nervous energy that had built up. The Sanctuary meant we were nearly there. Less than an hour to it, then two or three more until Brightfont where I could forget about frozen feet and chattering teeth for a while. After that, the mood picked up and Rawl even tried to grace us with a song, though it came out as more of a tuneless croak. He got a smattering of polite applause anyway. Michela, having been transferred from Harunath’s broad back to the next person on the rota, showed the old man how it was done, and while she entertained the others I noticed Orbur return from her patrol and whisper something in Harunath’s ear. The warden’s lips formed a grim line as she spoke. I left the rest of the group humming along to Michela’s high-pitched vocals. For a girl who almost died the day before and whose leg was being held together by a splint, she was in remarkably good spirits, and, for the time being, so was I, but I had a feeling that it wouldn’t last much longer.

“Any news?” I asked. Both wardens and the Hunter chief were in frantic, hushed conversation and Harunath and Ileta flinched at my interruption.

“Oh, it’s only you. There’s news alright, and it’s not good.” Harunath stretched his neck to one side until it cracked.

“I guessed that was the case. What is it?”

“They’ve found Modrik and the rest that split off last night,” Ileta said.

“That’s a good thing, right?”

Orbur shook her head. “If they were still alive and in one piece perhaps, but Lasarusa has located what’s left of their bodies a quarter of a mile further on. I warn you, you could fit all that remains in that bag of yours.”

“How do you know it’s them? If there’s that little left, it could be Snowfiend remains or something.”

The Hunter swung a large drawstring bag off her shoulder. The contents were large enough to stretch the fabric in places and was evidently quite heavy. I had a sick feeling that I knew what was inside even before she opened it. Peering inside I almost heaved up the raw meat I’d eaten for breakfast. Modrik’s sightless eyes stared up at me. The stump of his neck was a raw, jagged mess and claw marks raked open his cheek to leave a flap of skin hanging loose.

“Could any of them survived?” Harunath asked.

“I doubt it, not from what Lasarusa told me. There was too much blood for it to have come from a single man.”

“I need to see for myself, not least to decide the best course of action. Ileta, will you be alright to herd everyone a few degrees east? They don’t need to know what’s happened, not when we’re this close to safety.”

Ileta didn’t look fully convinced, but she nodded anyway, pulled out a lodebar – a length of metal on an axel that spun to point north – and took a reading before stowing it away again.

My eyes widened with curiosity. “I’ve never seen one of those in person before. How did you come by it?”

“An heirloom from my mother. It’s a relic from before the Ruin and I’ve kept it with me ever since she gave it to me. It’s saved my life on more than one occasion, almost as many as these beauties.” She patted her knives. “Remember that time in the Rhenwarg lair, eh Harunath? We were much younger then, before your daughter was born. Time flies like an arrow, doesn’t it?”

“That it does. My bones were less weary in those days. Back then, I would search out adventure wherever I could but now all I’m looking forward to is a full meal and a proper bed for a few nights. Go, I’ll rejoin with you on the other side of the Sanctuary.”

“I’m coming with you,” I said.

“I assumed as much,” Harunath replied. “Let’s be quick about it. I don’t want to leave Ileta unsupported for any longer than necessary.”

The scene of the massacre was obvious even two hundred yards away. A light scattering of fresh snow could not disguise the swathe of dried blood that stained the ground as if a giant hand had daubed it there. Harunath took in a sharp breath.

“It doesn’t get any better,” Orbur said. I freed Nutcracker from my belt and slipped my hand into its wrist loop. Though I couldn’t see any threats, Modrik and company hadn’t ripped themselves apart and whatever had done it could still be around. As we got closer, it became clear that they had truly been ripped apart. Unidentifiable lumps of flesh were scattered across the ground. Harunath knelt at the edge of the carnage and made a sign with his right hand.

“It’s a warden thing,” Orbur whispered, seeing the confusion on my face. He stood back up a moment later with thunder in his eyes. I stopped alongside him and surveyed the killing field in front of me. Something that might once have been an elbow lay not two yards away, and just beyond it a shattered bone, with globs of red muscle and yellow fat attached to it. Half a hand thrust up through the snow, three fingers ripped away. On one of the digits still attached to the hand was a ring that I recalled belonged to Voznan. He’d told me one evening across the fire that he was going to Brightfont to meet up with his brother, whom he hadn’t seen for almost three years.

“What the fuck has done this to them? A Snowfiend horde? Rhenwargs perhaps?”

“I have an idea,” Orbur said, “but neither of you are going to like it.”

“The Wyrm,” Harunath growled. “We need to get back to the others. If it’s followed us here, then everyone is in very real danger. We absolutely have to reach Brightfont today.”

“What about the Sanctuary?” I could see the line of its walls in the distance. It was cruel how close they’d got to safety. “We could harbour there and do the final stretch tomorrow.”

“No, the Sanctuary isn’t in a straight line between us and Brightfont. We’re better off powering through and getting behind high walls that no Wyrm could get through even if they tried.”

“Give me a minute, then.” I held my breath and tiptoed across the bloody ground to the severed hand. I had to fight back vomit as I forced the ring off the swollen finger, already starting to bloat despite the cold.

“What are you doing? Looting from a corpse is against the Warden’s Code, surely you know that, Pel. I could bring you up on charges once we get to Brightfont.”

“Relax, I only want to give it to his brother. That’s why he was making the journey in the first place. It’s the right thing to do and you know it. There’s no point leaving it here. We couldn’t bury all these remains even if we had the time and the tools. It’s better it ends up with family than in the belly of a Bone Sucker or whatever it is that’ll clear this up.” As if to emphasise my point, a Frosthawk keened overhead. Though they were dangerous hunters in their own right, they’d never pass up an opportunity to scavenge a free meal.

“Fine then, bring it with you but hurry up about it.” I slipped the ring into my pocket and hurried back to the warden.

“All done.”

Ileta had done a fine job of guiding the party away from the Sanctuary and towards the city. By the time we caught up with them, there was no sign of the walls I’d spotted and the mood still seemed positive.

“The wandering rovers return,” Rawl sneered. “Been off for a spot of sight-seeing, have we?”

Harunath ignored the scorn and answered as if it had been a straight question. “Just scouting something out. One of the Hunters spotted something and wanted my opinion. It turned out to be nothing to worry about. As for Pel here, he simply tagged along. You know what he’s like.”

Rawl nodded knowingly. “A pain in the arse.”

“He is that and all. I have to say, I’m mightily impressed with all of you. The pace we’ve kept today has been nothing short of heroic. Only a little further and you’ll be able to see Brightfont in the distance. I tell you, it’s one of the most beautiful sights.”

The warden’s short speech energised them all further and, sure enough, the faint blur of Brightfont appeared on the horizon within the hour. All that time, Harunath never stopped scanning the perimeter, even with the Hunters on high alert. Orbur had taken the message to each one personally and returned with a confirmation from them all that they’d report any suspicion of trouble right away.

A hillock rose out of the ground a short way off and I angled my trajectory towards it, hoping to get a better view of Brightfont from its top. When we were no more than eighty yards away, the mound began to move.

It shook and the crust of snow fell away to reveal a scaly white body beneath. The creature rose and turned yellow eyes on us before shrieking a terrible bone-chilling cry.

Saphielle

Her hands were frozen claws, barely able to keep herself clamped onto the rock face. A swirl of wind battered her with needles of ice, but that wasn’t the only thing carried on the air. A booming voice echoed off of nothing.

“Come, Champion of Day. Come and meet your demise at my claws. Once you fall, your Goddess and your people will swiftly follow.” As the Great Wyrm said ‘fall’, Saphielle’s eyes slipped downwards without her bidding. The cliff wasn’t the tallest thing she’d ever climbed, but the cold sapped her strength.

Isak’s, or should she say Ashuto’s, betrayal drained her will. Was that his body, a dark smudge on the lower peak at the reaches of her vision? A darkness threatened to smother her and drag her down into its depressive depths. That comforting embrace was tempting. To fall into nothingness and let pass whatever would happen. Nothing could hurt her then.

An image of Mirabelle materialised in her mind. Her daughter smiled and the ice that grew around her heart melted and she was filled with the warmth of purpose.

She hauled herself over the lip of the cliff. A gust hit her immediately with the force of a charging horse.

“I’m here, lizard. The time of your downfall is now.” The words were snatched from her lips as soon as she uttered them. Through narrowed eyes she searched the snow for her enemy. The top of the mountain sloped up to the true peak and the plateau she stood on was covered in a white sheet.

“Mighty words for one so small.” Her very heart shook with the power of the Great Wyrm’s voice.

She dredged her brain for something witty to respond with, but she’d been left emptied by the ascent and only one reply presented itself. “I don’t need to be big to kick your arse.”

“I like you. Maybe if you hadn’t been chosen by the Bitch of Light and Day you could have been my champion. We would have worked well together. As it is, you need to die.”

A hulking shape detached itself from the snow. She’d seen the Wyrm in her dream, but in real life it was far worse. The creature emerged from the falling snow and towered over her. Its scales were identical to the one Ashuto had shown her, glowing with a faint inner light and covering every inch of its body. Spines ran down its back and along its tail to culminate in a mace-like club at the end. A new depth of cold washed over her that had nothing to do with the weather.

“Gaze upon me and despair.” The Wyrm unfurled its wings and blocked out what little sunlight pierced the snow clouds. “The age of the Ilskini is at an end, the age of the Wyrm begins.” The Wyrm stepped back and brought its head level with Saphielle’s. Its mouth opened in a mockery of a grin baring every one of its sabre fangs. Mist seeped from between them like smoke, minute ice crystals catching the weak light and glittering like diamond dust. Saphielle unslung the bow from her back and unbound the arrow from the bow grip.

“How quaint, a bow and arrow. I would let you have a free shot, but I grow tired of your existence.” There was a rumble in the Wyrm’s belly that made any hairs not already standing on end because of the cold become upright.

This was it. Her only chance to stop the Great Wyrm’s era of ice before it began. No second goes. One arrow. One shot. Her fingertips wrapped around the bowstring and began to draw, but before she could draw it fully, the Wyrm unleashed a blizzard from its maw. She dropped the bow and leapt aside as the icy blast passed over her, close enough to freeze the hem of her cloak. She rolled to her feet and drew her sword. Using it to kill the Wyrm would be like using a spoon to dig out a mountain, but it felt better to have a weapon, any weapon, in her hand. The Great Wyrm crunched through the thick layer of snow towards her. It glanced at the bow lying half buried and launched another blast of ice at it before it became lost in the snow bank.

Memories of her year as a Noonguard came back to her. The training circle and the sparring. Competitions between cadets that drew crowds of thousands to watch and wager. She’d almost won the tournament that year. To hear the people screaming her name as she defeated opponent after opponent, only to fall in the last four.

The fight with the Great Wyrm would be nothing like that. Just the two of them. No one to cheer them on or regale others of the spectacle once it was over. No one to tell her daughter how she died if it all went wrong, but she couldn’t think like that. She was Simetra’s champion and she would defeat the Wyrm. She had to.

The Great Wyrm’s jaws snapped and she threw herself underneath them, raking her blade across the creature’s neck. The steel bounced off as if she’d struck the walls of Lendas and she nearly lost her grip on the hilt, the feeling in her extremities long since gone. The wind tore across the plateau, its sound not dissimilar from the roar of the crowds and it drove her on. Three leaps took her under the beast’s chest and she thrust at the point where neck and torso met with all her weight. The result was no different. An enormous leg, thick as a tree trunk, lashed out and caught her hard in the chest. She flew backwards and rolled to a stop, ribs burning and each breath an effort.

“You have tenacity, that much is clear, but you are human and I am a creature as old as your world. What hope do you really have?” As the Great Wyrm spoke, Saphielle noticed a dark patch on its torso, no larger than her palm, where she assumed its heart would be. A scar maybe, or a birthmark? Could a creature like that even have a birthmark, if it had been born at all? The scales across its body glowed softly, but that mark was lightless. Ashuto’s token came to mind, identical to the scales across the rest of the Wyrm’s chest. The realisation hit her as hard as the Wyrm’s foot. That patch was the only chink in the creature’s armour. The scale Ashuto had shown her had to have come from somewhere, and that somewhere was over the beast’s heart.

“Where there is light, there is always hope.” She winced with the effort. The Great Wyrm laughed and unfurled its wings, well over a hundred feet from tip to tip. It brought them over its head and formed a canopy. For the first time in days, no wind buffeted her.

“I am the one who brings the darkness.” There was another rumble in its chest and its maw opened, ready to unleash another blast of frozen air, but this time there was nowhere to go. Her sword lay a foot to her left where it had tumbled from her hand. The single missing scale that formed her target was twenty feet above her head, but with the bow buried under a heap of snow, and her sword out of reach, she could only do one thing. She slipped her knife from its sheath and rotated it until she held the blade between her thumb and fingers. The rumble grew louder.

With all the strength she could muster, she pushed herself up and hurled the knife at the Wyrm’s chest.

A palm-sized gap, high above her and in a dusky gloom. There was more chance of her threading a needle by throwing a spool of thread at it from across the room. It would have to be a throw of legends.

Time seemed to slow as she focused on the knife, rotating end over end as it got closer to the target.

The Great Wyrm barely registered what she’d done as mist started to seep from between its fangs once more. Her nails dug into her palms as she squeezed her hands into fists, willing the knife on and silently praying for Simetra’s guidance. The tip of the blade pierced the hole and sank up to the hilt into whatever was beneath.

“Yes!” The flood of relief that surged through her returned strength to her limbs. The creature, however, hardly noticed that anything had happened. It coughed and fixed her with a glare and all the strength she’d gathered drained away again. Its jaws opened wider and a frigid blast of air hit her face. At the same time, the dagger fell from the creature’s chest. The blade corroded to nothing leaving only the hilt to hit the snow. The creature growled, then unleashed a torrent of ice. It hit her and pinned her to the ground. All the warmth fled from her skin, all the hope fled from her heart. She closed her eyes. Then a bright light shone through her eyelids, brighter than the light she’d produced at the inn, brighter, even, than the sun.

“Get back, creature of the dark, this is my realm and you shall not intervene.”

Saphielle opened her eyes and for a moment the brightness was all she could see. A sensation tingled at the corners of her eyes and the light became bearable. The ice pouring from the Wyrm’s mouth hit the shield of light and was deflected around it. Shards as long as her leg pierced the ground either side of her but nothing broke through the barrier emanating from Simetra. By instinct she knew that Simetra had protected her from the light as much as the light protected her from the Wyrm’s breath. The ice petered out and the Great Wyrm and the Goddess stared each other down. Though Saphielle had seen Simetra in her dreams, she could not bring herself to look upon the Goddess’ face.

“How are you here?” the Wyrm growled.

“You forget the power I have. Though it is not as raw and unbridled as your own, that does not mean I am weak. You thought to usurp my place of power and take it as your own, but I have bided my time until I could be united with my champion. Between us we are stronger than you and we will cast you back to the void you crawled out of.”

“You can’t get rid of me, Simetra. We were born of the same starfire and our destinies are intertwined. No matter how many times you think you have banished me, I have always returned. Now it is my time to banish you, but this time it will be permanent. Your little champion does not scare me and neither do you.”

“Eras have passed since we first fought. Worlds and species blinked in and out of existence. I defeated you then and I will defeat you now, just as Saphielle has defeated your champion. No realm of mine will ever fall to your chaos.”

“Enough talking. I am stronger now than I have ever been, champion or no champion. This world will become mine and I shall usher in an epoch of ice.” The Wyrm bellowed a roar that reverberated inside Saphielle’s ribcage. With mighty flaps of its wings that blew snow up in flurries, it took to the sky and lost itself in the low cloud.

Simetra turned to Saphielle, a smile as warm as any fire lighting up her face.

“Saphielle Sim Donest, it makes my heart sing to meet you in person. Well, as much in person as I can get.”

“And you, Goddess.” Saphielle ducked her head in a small bow. “Although I didn’t realise you could be here.”

“Here is where I am strongest and that power allows me to project a visage of myself, but we will have more time to talk later. The Great Wyrm will not allow us much time to confer.”

Saphielle turned her eyes skyward. White and grey clouds swirled overhead. Had it been a winter’s day back in Lendas, it would have been pleasant, if bracing, but death lurked above and every fleeting cloud could be the Great Wyrm swooping down. The very tip of Simetra’s Bow projected less than an inch from the snow where the Wyrm had buried it. How much time did she have before…

She hurled herself backwards as a shape burst through the clouds above her and raked the ground where she’d been standing with a blast of ice.

“How do we bring it down?”

“You know how, and I’m certain you’ve seen where. It won’t be an easy shot, but I will help you as much as I can.”

The Great Wyrm looped back around for another pass, this time throwing up great plumes of snow as its claws ploughed through the banks. Its roars thundered across the plateau and down the slopes. She wondered if they could hear it back in Brightfont, if there was anyone still alive there. As the creature came back for a third pass, Simetra unleashed another blast of light. Bright tendrils whipped out from the burning orb before her and lashed themselves around the Great Wyrm’s legs and wings. It crashed to the ground with an impact that made the entire mountain shake.

“Go,” the Goddess said.

Saphielle dropped to a crouch and ran to where the bow was buried. She began to dig away at the snow, scooping mounds of it out with her bare hands until the bow was revealed, but it was useless without the arrow. She dug further. It was like looking for a nail in a straw bale.

Behind her, the Great Wyrm thrashed against the chains the light had formed.

“Quickly, I can’t hold it much longer.”

She pushed handful after handful of snow aside but the arrow remained stubbornly hidden. Then she saw it, a flash of glowing orange like an ember in the morning ash. She pulled it free. The arrowhead and shaft were fine, but the fletching was ruffled and bent. She smoothed it out the best she could, there was no time to repair it now.

“I’ve got it!”

“Good, finish this now. Kill it.” The strain in Simetra’s voice was painful and clear. Saphielle nocked the arrow to the string and ran back to where the Great Wyrm lay, still flopping like a fish on a line.

“This is for everyone who’s already suffered for your vision. The soldiers you turned into monsters. For Yolene and Cop, for me, and for my daughter.”

A chain of light held the Wyrm’s head down but it could still see her and it turned its cold blue eyes on her.

“The Ilskini will fall sooner or later, and your kind will finally see how they’ve manipulated you all for centuries. Then who knows what chaos will take over with me gone. There are worse powers out there than I.”

Simetra strained and the chains tightened, dragging the Great Wyrm prone to the ground.

“Don’t let its lies divert you from the just course. Finish it!”

Saphielle drew the battered fletching to her ear and sighted down the shaft, lining up the tip with the hole in the Wyrm’s scales.

“You think I’m the monster, but you humans have done worse than I could ever imagine.”

“Silence!” The light in Simetra’s hands flared from white to a fierce orange and Saphielle glanced at the Goddess. The calm visage slipped to reveal features twisted in hatred. It only lasted for a heartbeat before Simetra’s gentle smile returned.

“Come, Saphielle. Had it not been for this creature you would not have had to leave your daughter behind. Think of the danger you’ve been placed in simply because of the Wyrm’s twisted ambition.”

Saphielle’s arm started to burn with the weight of the bow. It was true. If the Great Wyrm had stayed wherever it had come from, she would be with Mirabelle now. She prayed Nana had taken better care of her daughter than she had of Yolene. That would not be an easy conversation to have. But on the other hand, the war would have still happened without the Wyrm’s influence. Barok would still be dead and she may well have been split from her daughter anyway. As much as her father disliked her, Dain Baku knew her worth as a soldier and leader, and she’d almost certainly have ended up being drafted to fight the Firthenites. That, like everything else, was out of her hands. None of the choices in her life had been hers to make. All direction was taken from her from the moment she chose to become Simetra’s champion. In the end, it all came down to one decision. The world as it was, or a world encased in ice, and that was a simple choice. She levelled the arrow again and drew in a freezing breath.

Something crashed into her and threw her off her feet, bow and arrow flying in different directions. She felt her skin split as her skull hit something solid beneath the snow and an object landed heavily on her arm. Her head lolled to the side to see the thing pinning her down and, through the fog that billowed in her mind and across her vision as unconsciousness beckoned, she managed to identify it. Human shaped, but small, with dark hair and a bruise across its face.

She slipped into blackness with one word echoing in her brain.

Ashuto.

Saphielle

Her eyes flickered open to darkness. Not the black void of oblivion, but the more comforting darkness of a cloud-covered night. She lay beneath the sky with damp ground under her. It was a cool night. The rain had drained the heat from the air and a light breeze carried with it a sharp scent. A blue streak of light crossed her vision from left to right and for a brief moment she thought she was a child again, gazing up at the Starbursts on the eve of the New Year as they illuminated Lendas in myriad colours. Then hearing rejoined sight and the screaming snapped her back to the sodden ground.

She rolled over into the mud which smothered every bit of clothing she wore. Another flash of light, orange this time, sailed overhead in the other direction. She’d seen that before. Simetra’s Final Arrow. It was meant to have been the last resort. Something Alliquis turned to only at the moment of most bitter need. Not a weapon to wage war, but her father had turned it into that. Had perverted it from shield to spear and with it had destroyed any last bit of respect she’d had for him.

A short distance away, a line of black-armour soldiers charged towards a group of mud-spattered Noonguard. The ground stole any moment the charge had and the two groups crashed together at no more than a jog. Then came the hacking and the stabbing, the wailing and the dying. She struggled to her feet. Moments ago, she’d been on the peak of the mountain, about to kill the Great Wyrm, now she was in the middle of a battlefield with no idea how she got there and even less of an idea where to go. All she knew was that she couldn’t stay where she was, weaponless and armourless.

“Strange, isn’t it? I’m usually here on my own, but we must have been close enough to appear together.”

She leapt a foot off the ground and whirled around with fists clenched. Ashuto looked at her with the same curious gaze that had endeared him to her in the first place.

“What the fuck are you doing here? What am I doing here? How dare you think you can talk to me like nothing happened.” The words poured out of her and once they started, she couldn’t stop them. “You tried to kill me and now you’re talking to me like we’re friends? There’s something seriously wrong inside that skull of yours.” She glanced back to the fight where the Firthenites were finishing off the Noonguard. “We need to find somewhere safe, but if you think you’re coming with me, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“We are safe. Nothing here can hurt us.”

“Are you hearing the crap coming out of your mouth? We’re in the middle of a battlefield.”

“Yes, we are, but we’re also not. You’ll see soon.” He put his hands in his pockets and whistled a light tune. She turned away and scanned the bleak horizon. Brightfont’s walls were perhaps half a mile away, but between her and the city was a full-blown battle. Then a familiar white shape soared out of the clouds, plunging towards her. The soldiers across the plain, however, didn’t even look up. She needed a weapon, something, anything to defend herself. At least then she would die fighting.

The Great Wyrm landed in front of her.

“What have you done? How am I here?”

“You aren’t here, and neither am I. We’re all still atop the bitch’s mountain. What you’re seeing is a reflection of what’s happening right now at Brightfont. These men and women are slaughtering each other over which of their patron Goddesses or Gods is better. All those lives lost over something so petty. Surely you can see that this has to stop, and I can make that happen.”

“I don’t disagree that this killing is senseless, but your proposal is to kill even more? There are better ways to fix it, diplomacy and politics.”

The Great Wyrm laughed and gestured with a foreleg to a spot behind her. She and Ashuto both turned to look. A streak of blue-white light seared through the night sky and smashed into the ground a few hundred feet away, sending bodies flying into the air. A wave of blue fire washed outwards. Anyone in the area not killed by the initial impact was caught in the onrushing flame. Skin melted or blackened and hair shrivelled and burnt. Neither armour nor shields could save them as the fire devoured everything in its path. A man’s helmet glowed red hot on his head and Saphielle swore she heard the sizzle as it fused to his flesh. Despite this being a dream or vision or whatever it was, her stomach heaved as the stench of charred humans reached her. Behind the stink, the wall of flame rushed towards them and Saphielle flinched, readying herself to run. Ashuto placed a hand on her arm.

“Stay, it can’t hurt us.” He stretched out his arm as the wall of fire hit. Where it met her the flames caressed her skin with a cool touch. The squad of Alliquean soldiers were not so lucky. The fire devoured them in moments. Firthenites lined up against the squadron cheered but their celebration was cut short as another burning arrow of light, this one orange and yellow, smashed into their midst. When the smoke cleared, there was nothing except a crater in the sodden ground.

“What good is talking against such reckless hatred?” the Great Wyrm said softly and, for the first time, Saphielle knew he spoke the truth.

Then the battlefield vista became unfocused and a white light, different from those she’d seen melt flesh like butter, grew in the middle distance. The light grew brighter and a familiar sensation enveloped her, like throwing on an old cloak.

Her whole vision turned white and she blinked.

“Thank goodness I found you.” Simetra stood in front of her with a worried look. “What did the Wyrm do to you while you were under his control?”

“It showed me a vision of the battle. It was horrific.” She was in the same blank, featureless vision that Simetra had brought her to before.

“You cannot trust anything that creature shows or tells you. Deceit is its forte.”

“There’s always truth in what you’re shown,” a second voice answered. Ashuto appeared from behind Saphielle. “It may not always be obvious what that truth is, but it’s there. For what we were shown? I don’t think any of it was a lie.”

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing with that back-stabbing bastard, but I am. Even if the exact situation wasn’t true, similar atrocities will happen in this war. What good is defeating the Great Wyrm, if we’re going to wipe each other out instead? And we will. The only way this ends is with both countries annihilated from the map.”

“That’s as may be, but I cannot interfere with the free will of humans. What’s happening is of your kind’s own design. It’s not my place to step in.”

“This isn’t any old war, Simetra. We’ve had plenty of those. Both countries are using weapons with the power of Goddesses and Gods. Innocent people are being targeted indiscriminately, thousands have already died and thousands more will die if we can’t put a stop to it.”

“I’ve lost count of the number of wars I have seen. Humans survive, they always have and they always will. You want to know about innocent people dying? If the Great Wyrm creates the world it wants, far more people will die of cold and starvation than ever will die in the war.”

Ashuto cleared his throat. “That’s not strictly true. As Saph–”

“That’s Princept Saphielle, to you,” she snapped.

Ashuto nodded and his shoulders fell a little. “As Princept Saphielle mentioned, this is not a conventional war fought with conventional weapons. There’s only so much humans can do with wood and steel and fire, but there are consequences to the weapons you and Amul have granted, ones that I doubt you ever considered. Though the Great Wyrm is deceitful, I believe it to be true in this. Wherever these weapons landed, call them what you will, the ground has become tainted with the raw power contained in the divine light. If this war continues, the land will be barren. What a legacy for the Ilskini, eh?”

Simetra bristled. “So what is it you suggest? The power has already been granted, I cannot simply take it back. Nor can I force the fighting to stop. This is out of my hands.”

“You’re the Goddess of Light and Day, you have more power than every King and Princept and Dain combined,” Saphielle said.

The Goddess laughed dryly. “I have less power than you think. I can do amazing things, I can inspire and guide, comfort and shelter, but I can’t directly affect people’s decisions. Only you humans can do that.”

“So our choices come down to a land destroyed by war or frozen by the Great Wyrm. Neither of those are options I would choose.” Saphielle sighed. Even in Simetra’s realm she felt trapped by the decision she had to make. Which world would she leave to her daughter? How could she justify either? Then a seed of an idea formed in her mind. “What if there is a way to win?”

Simetra leaned in with an eyebrow raised. It was strange how human she seemed. “Go on.”

“The Great Wyrm is clever but arrogant, and that can be used to our advantage. What I’m suggesting will be beyond difficult, but from where I’m standing it’s our only hope.”

“I’m listening.”

Saphielle

She slammed back into her body as if she’d fallen from a great height and sat up gasping. Everything hurt, aches radiating from her legs, arms, back and from muscles she didn’t even realise she had. One eye was glued shut with drying blood where a gash had opened on her brow. Whether she’d picked up her wounds in her fight with the Great Wyrm, or if somehow the dream realm had inflicted injuries on her, she didn’t know, but it bloody hurt.

Ashuto dug around in the snow a few yards away and straightened up with Simetra’s bow and the Wyrm-slaying arrow in his hands. His stony gaze met hers, and for the first time he looked more than the skinny young boy she’d met in the swamp. Whatever power Simetra had required to remove them both from the Wyrm’s vision meant her connection with the chains of light had been severed, and even as Saphielle watched, the bonds holding the Wyrm down began to fray and fracture. The creature growled, a primal sound from the base of its throat that shook her insides.

“Quickly, my magic is fading,” Simetra shouted.

“Bow!” Saphielle held out a hand and Ashuto tossed the weapon to her. It slotted into her palm like it had been made for her. Strange, until then it had always felt slightly wrong, as if she’d been wearing someone else’s trousers.

She took the arrow Ashuto offered and twisted the arrowhead until the cord snapped. She nocked the headless arrow once more. For the final time, if everything went as she hoped. The scale-sized target on the Wyrm’s breast heaved and rolled as the creature fought against the chains. Even had it been still, the shot would have been one a master archer could be proud of. Now, she was damned good, but she wasn’t a master.

“Traitor,” the Great Wyrm bellowed. “I will take my time in killing you.” Its lips curled back to reveal all of its ferocious fangs and there was a cruel glint in its eye as it glowered at Ashuto. The boy she thought she knew would have withered under the strength of the Wyrm’s glare.

Ashuto made a rude gesture in reply. “I’d like to see you try with an arrow through your cold heart.”

“Concentrate. Focus on the target and put any distraction from your mind. I’ll do my best to reassert the binding but I fear I will not be able to. Finish it off quickly.” Simetra interwove her hands together in a complex series of signs. The chains flared and glowed brightly, reflecting off snow in a dozen places. Then the Great Wyrm jerked its thick neck upwards and one of the links snapped with a boom that shook the very sky itself. The chains around the creature’s body and wings still held, but they spluttered sparks that fizzed and crackled.

“Now, Saphielle Sim Donest. Shoot it and become the saviour of your world.”

She drew the arrow back, her fingertips touching the corner of her mouth. Her eyes closed as her heart rate and breathing slowed. One long slow breath out, another deep lungful of frigid air in. She opened her eyes, adjusted the arrow and exhaled. The string rolled across her fingers with a hum and the headless arrow flew towards the Great Wyrm. The creature roared and its wings burst free of the chains with a sound like the dome of Simetra’s Temple shattering. The arrow thudded into where the missing scale should have been and disappeared up the fletching.

The Great Wyrm looked down at the tiny black speck protruding no more than three inches from its chest.

“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to stop me?” The shaft crumbled to dust and three black-feathered fletchings fell to the ground. The last of the light chains burst and the Great Wyrm returned to its fullest height with a roar of triumph. “I am fear. I am strength. I am the storm that rides the wind, and no one can defeat me. Not human, nor goddess. Witness my victory.” It wafted its wings, sending snow into the air before taking to the sky itself.

Simetra met Saphielle’s eye. “Are you ready?”

Saphielle nodded as a tear tracked down her cheek, freezing almost instantly. Simetra took her hand. A warmth flowed from the Goddess’ palm to hers and it spread up her arm and into her chest, filling her with calm. She wiped her eyes and the Goddess of Light and Day was gone.

“Take as much time as you need,” Simetra’s voice in her head whispered. “That is the final gift I can offer.”

The world dissolved into pure whiteness and Saphielle found herself for the last time in Simetra’s plane. After everything she’d been through, this was the end of the journey. No matter how hard she fought or cried or tried to ignore it, there was only one way. Her way. The plan she’d proposed to Simetra and Ashuto in order to prevent her own kind from wiping themselves out. It was genius, and she didn’t mind saying it. There was only one small hitch.

Was she doing the right thing? Ultimately, there was no way for her to know. It would either work or it wouldn’t, but none of them would be around to say which way the coin had fallen. That was the gamble, but then who ever said it would be easy? Yolene had known how hard it would be and she’d tried to tell Saphielle, but she hadn’t wanted to hear it.

It was funny, the regrets that come to mind at the end. Not in a laughable way but it made her think. It wasn’t any of the big things she’d worried about, unable to sleep with nerves. No, it was the little things. The personal ones that meant the most now.

The time she’d accidentally pushed Yolene over when they were playing and she’d gashed her knee. She still had that scar, small and pale brown on her knee cap.

Or when, at Barok’s ninth birthday feast, she’d snatched his new toy and almost immediately broken it.

Then there were the things she hadn’t done, like making sure Yolene knew how she felt about her before they’d lost each other. For a brief moment she felt her best friend’s hand in hers. A part of her hoped to see Yolene standing next to her when she looked, but she was alone.

She sighed. That horse had well and truly bolted.

But even as she looked back across her short life — a mere twenty-one years, she’d had horses older than that — there was only one major thing she would not do the same as before, and that was leaving her daughter behind. Of course, she knew the journey had been treacherous, but she’d give it all up in that moment to hold Mirabelle one last time.

“Your name will be remembered for this.” Ashuto spoke from behind her. She didn’t know how long he’d been there in Simetra’s realm with her. It felt silly worrying about the boy’s impression of her, especially now it didn’t matter, but that didn’t stop her. “Eventually you will be known as the saviour of our species. I know it’s not much, but I hope that knowledge brings you a crumb of comfort.”

“Did you see that in one of your visions?” she said with more force that she intended, sniffing as she finished.

“Not this one. This one I know in my heart.” He touched her arm gently. That contact, incorporeal as they were, was enough to breach the dam of her defences. Great sobs escaped her lips and she slid to her knees.

“I’ll never see her again. She’ll never know what became of me.”

He wrapped her in his arms. She thought about pushing him away. He’d tried to kill her, after all, but having spoken to the Great Wyrm she understood what had driven him to do it. And she’d met the real Ashuto. He was many things, but a good actor was not one of them. The Ashuto, or Isak as he’d been, that she met in the swamp and befriended in Brightfont was the true him. She was sure of it. She buried her head into his shoulder and cried more.

“She’ll know, I’ll make sure of that. She’ll know that her mother was a hero who didn’t stop loving her until the final moment and beyond,” Ashuto said after a while.

“Thank you. I don’t even know who will look after her, but it damn sure won’t be my father. Maybe Nana can raise her?” She’d stopped talking to Ashuto and was now talking to herself.

“I’ll do whatever I can. Mirabelle will have people around her that care. I promise.” She squeezed him tightly and he nodded. Nothing else needed to be said.

Simetra appeared in the corner of her eye and gave her a sad smile.

“I’ve given you as much time as I can, but now we must take our final steps. Are you ready?”

Saphielle untangled herself from Ashuto’s embrace and shook out her limbs before wiping her face with her sleeve, leaving a shiny smear on the fabric.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready. I am prepared, though, so let’s get this done before I change my mind.”

Simetra took her hand once more and that same warmth flowed through her once again. The light around her brightened until Ashuto and Simetra disappeared. When she could see again, she was back on the peak. Ashuto stood, blinking, a few yards away, but of Simetra there was no sign.

“I am here,” said the Goddess from the depths of her mind. Lurking somewhere within her consciousness was another presence. One of warmth and light. “There is one more thing you should know. Yolene lives. I hope this news brings peace to your heart.”

Saphielle smiled. There was a steel in her now. She knew exactly what she had to do, and how to do it. The strength of purpose put a fire in her belly as she bent down and picked up Simetra’s bow.

“I won’t be needing this anymore. I think you should look after it.” She threw the weapon to Ashuto, who caught it cleanly. He wore a grim expression.

“The myriad thousands that will learn of your name salute you, as do I. Go well and perhaps we shall meet again. Until then, my word is my bond. I—”

Whatever Ashuto was about to say was cut off as the Great Wyrm scythed back down through the clouds with a trembling roar. Ice billowed from its open jaws, forming frozen spikes where it hit the ground.

“Your time has come to an end, champion of a fallen Goddess.”

It hit the ground in front of her and the tremors almost knocked her from her feet. She regained her balance and stood there with her arms folded stubbornly across her chest.

“If I am to die here, and that’s a big if, at least face me eye to eye.”

“Hmm… Yes, you are to die, and it would be petty of me not to grant you one last request. I shall look into your eyes as the life drains from them and then I will kill your Goddess, wherever she may be. I notice she is absent. Too cowardly to watch the inevitable death of her chosen one?”

“She has better things to do than wait around here as I rip your heart out with my bare hands.”

“That’s all you’ve got, inane threats? Your time is up, tiny human. Now your life will end, an insignificant footnote in history.” It opened its maw once more, revealing every fang dripping with saliva.

The missing scale was ten feet out of reach above her and it might as well have been a hundred. Her plan, however, didn’t require a sudden growth spurt. She’d meant what she said. The Great Wyrm was arrogant, and that arrogance was a blindfold where she could see clearly.

“I could kill you with one punch, you overgrown lizard.”

The Great Wyrm rumbled a laugh. “A stripling like you? You couldn’t punch your way through a hair’s-width of ice.”

“How about a wager, then? You allow me one punch. If you die, I win. That’s obvious. If you don’t, which you’re so confident about, then you get to eat me or whatever it is Wyrms do. Sound like a deal?”

“Oh my, you’re a brave one. There aren’t many mortals who would dare to bargain with me, and even fewer who defy me.” He shot a glare at Ashuto and appeared to consider her offer. “Fine, I agree to your terms. You get a single, unarmed strike with which to vanquish me. When that fails, I shall tear off your head and pick my teeth with your bones. Go ahead, take your blow.” The creature stood tall on all four legs and tucked its wings close against its back. “I’m waiting.”

Saphielle considered the task at hand. There was only one way this would work; a plan held up by a single thread. Everything had to go perfectly in order to pull it off.

She ran at the Great Wyrm’s head, lowered close to the ground to see her failure better. The Wyrm’s eyes narrowed as she approached, closing the gap with long strides that threw up clumps of snow behind her. She leapt at the creature’s face. Her hands found the ridge of spines along the Great Wyrm’s jaw. They were smooth and cold against her skin, as if they had been cast from steel rather than grown on a living being. She used them like a ladder, throwing hand over hand as fast as she could. Before the creature could react, she was atop its head and running down its neck.

“One blow, little flea. That was our deal, not this circus you are intent on showing me.” It raised its head and the flat track of its neck became a steep slope. She slid down the last dozen yards and hit its back with enough force to jar her knees, but she kept running. The ridges of the Wyrm’s scales stuck up several inches and threatened to trip her as she went.

“Our agreement never specified where I had to hit you,” she shouted back in between deep breaths.

“Enough,” the Great Wyrm thundered. It reared up onto its hind legs and beat its wings. It was like standing at the centre of an earth tremor. Saphielle’s feet fell from beneath her and she hit the Wyrm’s shoulder as if she’d fallen from height. The sharp edge of a scale cut through her layers of clothing and gashed her forearm. Bright blood welled in the cut, the fierce red a stark contrast against the white scales. At its full height, standing on the Great Wyrm’s shoulder, was akin to striding the city walls of Brightfont and Ashuto looked suddenly minute. She leaned out over the Wyrm’s shoulder so she could see down the curve of its chest. The height made her dizzy just to look at it, but there, above the barrel of its ribcage, was the place Ashuto’s scale should have been. Its chest was smoother than its neck and back – fewer protrusions, spikes and spines – but there was enough of a curve for her to stand where the creature’s neck joined its ribs and the ridged scales would provide enough of a hold for her to do what needed doing.

“You can do it, Saph,” Ashuto called up. His voice was reedy and mostly stolen by the wind, but it comforted her.

“I believe in you,” came Simetra’s calming tones from inside her. A light sparked to life beneath her clothes and over her heart, bright enough that flashes of it were visible through her layers. Saphielle leapt off the Wyrm’s shoulder and hit the slope of its chest still upright. She felt like a child again, sliding down the slope of the Whiterush before launching herself from the rock to land in the pool below, only there was no exhilarating ending this time. The light had migrated now to her left shoulder and began to travel down her arm, becoming brighter with every inch it went. Her target, no larger than her flat palm, came rushing up and she dug her heels into the scales of the Wyrm’s chest.

“What are you doing?” For the first time, the Great Wyrm’s voice held a note of worry.

“Hitting you where it hurts.” Her momentum slowed and she fell backwards to come to a stop before she slid over the curve of the Wyrm’s chest and into the air. The light in her arm had reached her hand, which shone like sunlight reflected off water.

“Stop that, this isn’t what we agreed.”

“We agreed on a single hit, and here it is.” With a fist that held the sun itself, she drove her arm into the scaleless gap. The flesh inside was warm and soft and it felt like punching a side of meat. She hadn’t given much thought to what the Great Wyrm really was. Part of her had expected it to be like a suit of armour with nothing but emptiness inside, by the Wyrm was a real creature, and real creatures knew how to bleed and die. The light burst from her and poured into the Great Wyrm’s chest, slithering into its flesh and escaping around her fist and between the gaps where the Wyrm’s scales overlapped until the creature was drawn in brightness. The last vestige of light leaked from her fist and she felt as if someone had reached inside her and hollowed her out with a spoon. Every last drop of energy had been spent.

The Wyrm shook itself like a fox caught in a trap and Saphielle’s tenuous grip on its chest disappeared. She slid the last foot and then the only thing beneath her was the air that tore past her face.

“What have you done?” the Great Wyrm shouted. Muscles bunched in its legs and along its neck as light continued to leak from it. Before she could answer, she hit the ground with a force that drove the air from her lungs. The creature continued to thrash for a few moments as Simetra’s magic coursed through him. Then the light faded and the top of the mountain returned to normal.

“Was that it?” The creature laughed once the glowing had died down. “Your one chance to destroy me and you settled on a show of light. I’ve been hurt more by the wind than by your false Goddess.”

Ashuto ran over to her. “Saph, are you alright? That was utterly brilliant.”

She coughed and blood dribbled down her chin from where she’d bitten her tongue.

“Did it work? It has to have worked.”

“I don’t know. It looked like it did, but I’m no expert when it comes to this.”

“Simetra?” The Goddess was gone from the mountaintop and there was no voice in her head.

“I told you that your Goddess would flee. It doesn’t matter that she has gone, for my victory is assured and my power will only grow stronger. I will hunt her in this realm and the other. There will be no place to hide. As for you…”

The Great Wyrm pounced with a speed that belied its great bulk. A scaled and taloned foot that could have crushed an entire squadron beneath it knocked Ashuto to one side and pinned her to the ground between two of its claws.

“As for you, the sands of your life have slipped through the glass. Earlier than you may have hoped for, but that is the price you pay when you take me on and fail.” It puffed a flurry of ice from its mouth that billowed into the air. A rumble came from deep within its chest and Saphielle knew it was preparing to encase her in enough ice that a hundred summers would never thaw her. With Ashuto lying so close, it was inevitable that he, too, would be caught in it. The only way of getting a message to Mirabelle would be snuffed out alongside her. The Wyrm’s throat convulsed as the vehicle of her death rose.

Then the creature choked. Its head jerked from side to side, down and up, and its throaty roars became confused whimpers. As if it was fighting against a monstrous storm, its head bowed until its fangs were less than a foot from Saphielle’s face. The frigid air from the creature’s throat wafted over her. With a howl, the Great Wyrm threw its head back and unleashed a torrent of ice that tore the low clouds apart. Once the Wyrm’s magic was spent, it sagged down and turned its face towards her.

“I don’t have long until the Great Wyrm recovers itself.” Simetra’s voice came from the creature’s mouth. The moon shone through the hole in the clouds and lit the Wyrm’s face in silver light. “My power is gone and all I can do is lay dormant until one comes who can free me from this prison I have thrown myself willingly into. The final gift I can leave with you is this:

“Release the flame that’s held within,

A cell of scale and ice and skin,

The blind sun’s mark shall guide you true,

By salt and storm a hope anew,

A shadow ‘ere by moonlight cast,

Shall see the time has come at last,

Fight back the snow, life to restore,

Return what is to that before.”

The foot that held them down lifted and air came rushing back into her lungs.

Ashuto groaned and rolled over. “Come on Saph, before the Great Wyrm comes back to its senses.”

A weak laugh trickled from her lips. “I’m not going anywhere, Ash. Damage to my body aside, hosting a Goddess inside me, even for a period as short as that, has consequences. I’m dying, Ash, and I knew this would be the outcome the moment Simetra warned me. I’m sorry for keeping that truth from you, but I know you would only have tried to talk me out of it.”

“But you can’t–”

“No, don’t speak. Listen. I forgive you for what you did to me, but I must ask three things of you in return. First, you must remember the prophecy word for word. Secondly, find Yolene. Simetra told me she is alive, and though you did what you did, you must pass the prophecy on to her. Two minds are better than one. Finally, I need the pair of you to return to Lendas and find my daughter before the snow comes. Get her somewhere safe and make sure those that come after us know of the prophecy. If our species is to ever see the sun again, this knowledge cannot be lost. These aren’t easy tasks, but I trust you to fulfil them.”

She reached out and took Ashuto’s hand. With the last of her strength, she pressed Simetra’s arrowhead into his palm. He squeezed her had in return, tears tracking down his cheeks.

“Give this to Mirabelle.”

The moon was bright, even as the clouds reformed to cover it. She wondered how long it would be until humankind saw its silver face again. As her eyes closed, a final image swam into her mind.

Mirabelle playing on the floor of the nursery.

She smiled. Everything she’d done had been for her.

Pel

The White Wyrm screamed again and revealed all its teeth. Sure, it may not have had the size of the Great Wyrm of the story, or wings or the ability to spit ice, but it had dagger-sharp fangs, claws like sickles and the focused rage of a beast that knew it was angry, knew what it was angry at, but didn’t understand why. Its piercing blue eyes locked onto us and it took every bit of courage not to piss myself there and then.

“We’ve hit the edge of the cliff here, folks. Nowhere left to run.” Harunath cracked his knuckles. His face was set and his shoulders squared as he extracted his mace from his pack. He slipped the loop over his wrist and gave it a few swings to loosen his joints. It would have been wrong to say the warden wanted this fight, but that creature had been plaguing him, and the rest of us, since the moment we left his Sanctuary. It had killed travellers under his protection and had almost cost him his own life at the hands of Modrik and Treti. He slapped the shaft of the mace against his open palm and bellowed a war cry that burrowed into my flesh and made me shudder.

“You mad bastard,” Ileta muttered, drawing her knives.

“We’re in this together I suppose,” I said. My heart was in my mouth and my stomach leapt and bounced in as vain an attempt to escape as anything we could muster. In the distance, the top of Brightfont’s wall smudged the snow. Half a day’s walk at most but the only way to reach those walls was through the Wyrm. I unslung Nutcracker from my own pack. My fingers settled into the familiar, worn grooves that I’d grown to know over the course of my journey. Nutcracker would be no more effective against the White Wyrm than it would be against the city wall, but it was all I had and I’d be damned if I didn’t go down fighting.

Orbur barked something in the Hunters’ own language and those remaining spread out into a skirmish line. Their bows were strung and I could see the fletching in their quivers, ready to be drawn. If we were to have any chance, the Hunters would need to show us what they were born for.

“We’ll engage it long enough for you to slip the rest of the party around and on towards Brightfont. Then we’ll disengage and follow after you once we’re sure it can’t overtake,” Orbur said once the Hunters were in position.

“A good strategy, but not one I think will work this time,” the warden replied.

“I’d say.” Rawl had appeared silently and uninvited like he was wont to do. “Our best hope is to flee back to the Sanctuary and hope it dies of old age or boredom before we die of starvation.”

“A useful input as always,” Ileta snapped.

Harunath held up a hand and the bickering died. “If we are to be free of this creature, we cannot allow it to live. Orbur and her Hunters will fill it with arrows while those of us who are able keep it occupied. If the Wyrm gets to the Hunters, then none of us have a hope, so we have to keep it away.”

“Harunath, old friend, think about what you’re asking your charges to do. You’re using us as bait. Remember the oath you took on becoming a warden, to preserve the life of all who travel with you to the best of your ability. This is a path fraught with danger, we all know that, but this is a step too far.”

“I must kill it, for my honour as much as anything.”

“Brightfont is half a day away,” I said. “Can’t we draw it close enough to the walls that it comes into ballista range?”

Harunath shook his head and flakes of snow fell from his beard. “It’s half a day for us, maybe longer with Rawl and Michela alongside. For the Wyrm, though, it’s no more than a couple of hours. It’ll catch up with us long before the ballistamen of Brightfont get it in their sights. No, here we can fight it on an even field. It’s our only choice.”

Orbur stroked her chin. “I hate to say it, but you might be right.”

“If I’d known I was going to get eaten by a White Wyrm, I’d have hurled myself into the chasm to save it a job. I knew I should have stayed where I was and not bothered with the journey at all.” Rawl wrapped himself tightly in his cloak and started to shuffle off.

I went after him as a thought hit me. “Say, why are you on this journey in the first place?” He’d never mentioned it once during all the nights we sat and listened to him talk.

“Why do you want to know? What’s your reason for tagging along and ruining my days with your inane questions?”

“I have business to see to in Brightfont.” I gestured noncommittally in the direction of the walls.

“See, that’s not an answer. We all have business to see to, or else none of us would have risked our balls by coming out here. If you must know, there’s someone I hope to meet when we get to Brightfont. Is that enough for you to withdraw your abnormally large nose from my affairs?”

“There’s no need to be like that. I was only asking.”

“I think there’s plenty need. We’re all going to die in the jaws of a stunted remnant of magic and all you can ask me about is why I’m here. Now either run headlong at the Wyrm with that fool of a warden and leave me to my thoughts, or talk the damned idiot out of it.” He pushed me aside and continued grumbling.

Rawl would change his mind only when Simetra’s Peak had crumbled to dust and I wasn’t willing to argue with him, so I returned to Harunath, Ileta and Orbur. The three of them were engaged in heated debate.

“Either we take the fight to the Wyrm, or it brings it to us. It’s seen us and it won’t tolerate us being alive much longer. Look around, Ileta, there is nowhere to take cover. At the end of the day, it’s that thing or us, and I choose us.” He hefted his weapon onto his shoulder and strode in the direction of the White Wyrm. Harunath called back over his shoulder. “Are you with me or not?”

Orbur huffed and rolled her eyes, but she adjusted her grip on her own weapon and whistled sharply. In moments, the small band of Hunters who remained were arrayed around her. She gave them orders in their own short, harsh language.

“We don’t really have a choice, do we?” I said, mostly to myself but loud enough for Ileta to hear.

“Choice is an illusion. We never truly get to decide our fate, even if it seems at times that we do. Life is lived between inevitabilities and this is one of those focal points we get swept towards without knowing. Best just to get it over and done with.” She twirled a knife between her fingers and set off after Harunath, taking two steps for every one of his strides. The Hunters also padded across the snow. In this situation their animal nature was apparent as they sniffed the air.

“Are you going to stand there all day with your thumb up your arse, or are you joining us?” Orbur regarded me with a raised eyebrow.

“Best get it over and done with.” Snow crunched under my boots as I ran to catch up with the wardens. The wind howled across the plain and drowned out the Wyrm’s piercing screeches. Here and there, the snow whipped up into vortexes which spun across my path before collapsing in on themselves. Thick grey clouds covered the sky from horizon to horizon. Beyond that ever-present blanket was the sky, a sight I hoped one day to see, lined my ancestors had done, but before I could worry about that, there was the small matter of a White Wyrm to think about. Orbur trotted past me, catching up to the other Hunters and yapping orders at them.

“Wait,” someone called from behind me. My eyes widened and my jaw fell open when I turned around. Every man of the party, and most of the women, stood in a group with the few weapons we had left distributed amongst them. “We’re in.”

“Thank you,” I said hoarsely. Rawl stood with Michela and Treti. The little girl’s head protruded from the palanquin. She smiled at me and Treti blew me a kiss. I caught it and tucked it into my pocket for luck. Only Rawl scowled and muttered something.

With reinforcements at my back and Orbur by my side, we marched after Harunath, Ileta and the Hunters. The White Wyrm hunkered down. It might not have had the brains of its ancestor, but it knew a fight was stamping its way across the plain towards it. I reached for my chest and fondled my pendant through the layers.

“You do that when you’re nervous,” Orbur said. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing.” Seeing the Hunter’s eyebrow lift, I quickly followed on. “A necklace my mother gave me before I set off. Something to remind me of home. I like to think it brings me luck, but if anything it’s done the opposite.”

“Let’s hope it works this time.”

Ahead of us, the Hunters had spread into a half-circle around the Wyrm, much like they had done at the ridge. Arrows were slotted onto bowstrings and held ready to draw. Harunath strode on, closing the gap between them. The White Wyrm gave a reedy screech.

“I’m not afraid of you, beast. If anything, you should fear me. You’ll rue the day you began stalking Harunath Steelheart and all those under his care,” the warden bellowed back. He swung his mace in a wide arc and the Wyrm shrank back. There were barely twenty yards between them now. The Wyrm uncoiled and sprang forwards, faster and further than I’d seen it do before. The Wyrm’s snout caught Harunath in the chest and flung him off his feet.

“Loose, damn you,” Orbur yelled. “Loose and loose again.” The snap and hum of a dozen bows filled the air and black streaks flew towards the Wyrm. They all found their marks, but a clatter of iron on scales declared most failed to find a way past the creature’s armoured hide. The Wyrm’s tail flicked out but that was its only reaction. Its cruel eyes remained on Harunath.

“I don’t suppose they all have a weak spot like the Great Wyrm did?” I mused.

“We’d be so lucky.” The Hunter took her weapon from her belt and flicked it out. The spear tip appeared at the end as the shaft extended and she locked it with a sharp twist.

“Where did you even get that?”

“This was made before the ice and I found it in an abandoned city somewhere far east of here. It never leaves my side.”

“I can see why. I’ve seen you skewer Snowfiends with it, but let’s see what it can do against something that size.”

She shook herself like the Rhenwargs did before they made a kill and a calm focus came down over her. I took the hint and shut up. In three bounds she was up to full speed, near gliding the snow. She sprang from ten feet away and soared into the air, kicking the White Wyrm hard enough in the face to throw its head aside. She landed back on the ground as light as a Frosthawk feather.

The Wyrm’s cold fury turned on her. It screamed, its face less than a foot from hers, showering her with saliva that froze on contact. Orbur wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and thrust the spear at the Wyrm’s face. More arrows pinged off its scales, but a few made it between the gaps and stuck there like needles. That only enraged the White Wyrm more. Harunath leant on his mace and pushed himself to his feet.

“Over here, you ugly lizard. Your mother probably vomited when you were born.” I doubted the Wyrm could understand what the warden was saying, and if Rawl’s story was true, I wasn’t sure that White Wyrms had mothers in a traditional sense, but I understood what he was doing. The Wyrm twitched but kept its gaze locked on Orbur.

“With me,” I shouted over my shoulder. Screaming from the pit of my stomach, I ran at the Wyrm. It was as close to suicide as walking outside a Sanctuary alone at night. Didn’t stop it being the right thing to do, though. The roar from behind me pushed me on like a fierce gust. This time, the noise was enough to attract the White Wyrm’s attention. Its head snapped up and with a great leap it cleared Orbur and landed in front of me. If I’d had anything to drink that morning I would have pissed myself. Nutcracker suddenly felt slippery in my grip. This thing before me was no Snowfiend. I couldn’t bash its skull in, no matter how many times I hit it. The White Wyrm was strength and rage and death and I was its next target.

“Eat me then,” I yelled in a shrill voice, swinging Nutcracker wildly at its face.

“No, me.” Everyone had spread out beside me, forming a smaller arc within the curve of the Hunters’ and each one had their weapons raised.

“Eat me.”

With every shout, the White Wyrm switched its attention, no longer focused on a single target. My stomach heaved at how close I’d come to being dinner, but I kept what little food I had in there down. I took a step and brought Nutcracker down on the side of its head with a hollow thunk. It served to do nothing other than piss it off as the creature screeched again and snapped at where my head had just been. I rolled backwards, the wind from its clashing fangs passing over me.

“How do you like this?” Orbur cried from the rear of the creature. It howled in pain and thrashed its muscular tail. An arrow hissed past my ear, hitting the Wyrm between the eyes and hanging there, half in and half out. Between its legs, I could see Orbur’s spear had penetrated the end of the Wyrm’s tail and gone right through. The Hunter lay in a heap and there was a red splash on the snow around her.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Harunath delivered a meaty blow to the Wyrm’s ribs and something cracked. It howled again and swung around to snap at the warden.

“Keep going! Keep it distracted. Archers, aim for the head,” Ileta called. Her knives were of little use against the thick scales of the Wyrm but she kept in its eyeline, making odd jerky movements. The Hunters continued to pepper the Wyrm. Its sides resembled a pincushion now but even the number of shafts protruding from it did nothing to bring it down. An arrow ricocheted off the creature’s snout and deflected towards Ileta. It struck her in the shoulder and she yelped. The sound drew Harunath’s attention as well as the Wyrm’s.

“Fall back,” he said over the sounds of pain from the Wyrm, Orbur and Ileta. The blood pounding in my ears almost drowned out his words. He pointed out a path that would take Ileta beyond the Hunters’ perimeter. The Wyrm struck as fast as a blink. Its jaws latched onto Harunath’s outstretched arm and bright blood leaked between its fangs. With a flick of its head, Harunath was hurled into the sky where he came crashing down in an unmoving heap.

“No!”

It felt like my insides had been torn out. Harunath had been good to me even when he had his suspicions. He’d seen my potential and taught me much along the road, but more importantly, with him, Orbur and Ileta down, our own chances of survival had plummeted.

The Hunters redoubled their assault, the air never empty of arrows, but a quick glance delivered more bad news. Their quivers were almost empty and once the arrows ran dry, there would be nothing pinning the White Wyrm down. It was as if the creature realised this as well, for it didn’t stop to maim Harunath any further. Instead, it glared at me then charged at the nearest Hunter. I clearly wasn’t deemed enough of a threat. I wished it was a mistake I’d make the creature pay for, but with a mace that simply bounced off its hide and a troop of non-fighters behind me, I couldn’t see how we could do anything now.

Orbur’s spear still skewered the Wyrm’s tail, adding an additional weapon to its arsenal. But it was proof the spear could pierce its scales and if we were to have any hope, I needed to retrieve it. The Hunters backed away as much as they could, but the Wyrm persisted and when it was within ten yards of them, they dropped their bows and drew short swords. They were barely longer than Ileta’s knives, crudely made things, more likely crafted from recovered scraps of metal than forged for the purpose. If the Noonguard had survived to see them, they would have laughed at the notion of wielding them in battle, but the Noonguard hadn’t survived and it was all we had. I couldn’t name the Hunter that leapt at the Wyrm. Jaws closed around his waist in mid-air and ripped him in half without a pause before the creature turned on the next one in line. As morbid as it was to consider the Hunters a mere distraction to the Wyrm, they did hold its attention and it was now a couple of dozen yards away from Orbur and the wardens. I kept low to make myself as small a target as possible. The last few arrows from the Hunters on the other side of the arc zipped overhead. I reached Harunath first. His skin was grey and he was sweating despite the cold. Flashes of white were visible within the ruined remains of his arm.

“We’ll get you out of here,” I said, whipping off my outer layer and draping it over the warden.

“Forget about us, boy. Try and get the rest to safety, though only the old Ilskini know where that would be right now. It was a fool’s idea to attack the Wyrm head on,” Ileta croaked. She was also pale and her lips were drawn in a tight line. She clasped her injured shoulder and a trickle of blood leaked between her fingers.

“It’s a noble gesture, but I won’t leave anyone behind that I don’t have to.”

“You’ve been stubborn since I met you. Always knew you were a good one.” She forced a grin and I couldn’t help but smile back. Cantankerous old git. With Harunath initially seen to, I moved across to Orbur. Blood pooled around her head and her neck was twisted at a sickening angle. There was nothing I could do for her now.

More screams ripped from the Hunters engaged up close and personal with the White Wyrm. A leg cartwheeled across my vision, followed quickly by the Hunter it had belonged to. I counted at least three down. The Hunters behind me had finally run out of arrows and they drew their own swords, advancing on the Wyrm in a loose formation. Against anything else they would have been formidable, even Rhenwargs had concern for their own hide, but against the Wyrm we were powerless.

A familiar black and white streak flashed over the top of my fellow travellers. Their bravado had died with the Hunters and they huddled together, unsure whether to run or simply await their deaths in the jaws of the Wyrm.

The bird which had saved us from the Snowbrute hit the White Wyrm like a javelin. The creature wailed and threw its head back in agony. Black goo dripped from where its left eye had been. The bird circled it, out of reach of snapping fangs and its thrashing tail. The spear embedded in the tail caught a Hunter through the belly, the tip bursting from the Hunter’s back. When the Wyrm brought its tail up, the Hunter’s body was lifted off the ground, then the spear slid free of the tail and both weapon and Hunter collapsed in a heap.

Without thinking, I hurdled over Harunath, sprinted past Ileta and slid under the White Wyrm’s body before snatching the spear free of the fallen Hunter.

The Wyrm’s attention was still on the bird. Again it dived like a Frosthawk at the Wyrm’s head, keeping to the left to remain in the creature’s newly expanded blind spot. It twisted in mid-air and aimed for the White Wyrm’s other eye, but the creature had anticipated that and jerked its head around. Its jaws slammed shut and the bird wheeled away with blood marring its perfect white patch and its feathers ruffled. The spear shaft was slick with blood, too. Wyrm’s or Hunter’s I didn’t know.

I was less than five feet from the creature but it hadn’t noticed me, either because I was in its blind spot also, or its attention had been taken entirely by the Skrynia.

“You forgetting something?” I yelled.

The White Wyrm blinked with its remaining eye and looked at me with a seething anger. The ruined hole where its other eye had been was raw and weeping. It shrieked, the sound like knives driven into my skull.

“That’s right, you’ve got me to worry about as well.” I thrust at its face, a slow, ponderous attack the Wyrm had no problem shifting aside from, but while it was focusing on me, it couldn’t see the bird circling above. I waved the spear wildly and it tracked the tip, tilting its head to one side to bring its good side around. Another flash of black and white feathers fell from the sky. Talons raked across the White Wyrm’s face and blood sprang from the cuts that had appeared from snout to the back of its head, taking the right eye with them. The Wyrm lifted its head high and screamed a sound of pure animal anguish. I could have felt sorry for it - no living thing deserved to be left in such pain – then I remembered the deaths it had caused, both directly and indirectly.

I stepped forwards and drove Orbur’s spear underneath the creature’s chin and into its brain. It fell instantly, its whole body collapsing on top of me and I was in a world of darkness. The weight of the Wyrm crushed the air from my lungs. When I exhaled, the bulk of the dead creature pressed even firmer down on me and my next breaths were shallower and shallower until I could only sip what little air was left.

Muffled shouts made their way to me. I’d heard of people buried beneath avalanches, trapped in tombs of snow and ice with no way out other than to dig with their bare hands. Some of the stories had been from survivors, but not many. I didn’t have even the luxury of false hope. I couldn’t dig my way free through the Wyrm, and beneath me was nothing but snow, ice and, under all that, earth. I felt like I was floating and I knew it wouldn’t be long until I had nothing left to breathe. Despite being dead, the White Wyrm had claimed another life. Mine.

I fought to reach the pendant pressing painfully against my ribs, but my arms were pinned tight. I should have stayed at home with my parents. It hadn’t been a bad life, dull most of the time, but stable. No White Wyrms or hordes of Snowfiends to worry about. What would my mother think of me, or my grandmother come to think of it. Everything they had been through and I couldn’t manage what should have been a straightforward journey to Brightfont.

A rush of fresh air and light flooded into the divot I’d formed beneath the carcass and I sucked in a lungful of the glorious stuff.

“Here he is.” Strong hands grabbed me and hauled me out of my prison. I was pulled to my feet where I wobbled precariously. A shoulder appeared under my arm and more hands brushed the snow from my clothes, though the blood stains remained.

“You did it, you killed the Wyrm,” Treti clapped her hands to my frozen cheeks and was about to kiss me until she realised I was covered in Wyrm blood. She coughed and her own cheeks turned red.

Once I was feeling more stable, I looked down at the Wyrm’s body. It certainly looked dead, but I gave it a swift kick to make sure. The creature’s hide was hard as steel and a wave of pain ran up my leg. For once I embraced the sensation. Proof I was still alive.

“Is anyone with Harunath and Ileta?” I asked, remembering their injuries.

“They’re being patched up as we speak. Ileta looks like she’ll make a full recovery, but Harunath’s wounds are more serious. We’ll have to get him to Brightfont so his injury can be looked at properly.”

“Dare I ask the full toll of this fight?”

Treti’s lips tightened. “It’s not good. The wardens are injured, of course, but we lost Orbur and half our Hunters. Most of the survivors have wounds too. I’m just thankful we’re so close to Brightfont, as we wouldn’t have lasted another night outside walls. Old Rawl has managed to hurt himself too, though. I tried to see to it but he told me to go away, and not in those words. Will you talk to him? He seems to trust you.” She jerked her thumb in Rawl’s general direction.

He was swaddled in a cloak away from everyone else, seated on his pack.

“I hear you’ve gone and got yourself hurt,” I said as I approached.

“Leave me alone.”

“I just want to check you over, make sure you’ve not done any serious damage.”

“I said no.” As he spoke, his voice deepened and grew a strength I’d not heard from the old man.

“You don’t sound yourself.” I leant over and pulled his hood back. It took all my willpower not to cry out at what I saw underneath. Rawl’s face flickered from old man to middle aged to teenager and back again like smoke curling from a fire. Sometimes the faces had human skin, occasionally they were covered in black feathers.

“Who are you?” I breathed. “What are you?” I backed away, reaching instinctively for Nutcracker, but the old girl was somewhere underneath the dead Wyrm.

Rawl, or whatever had been Rawl, turned to me and his face returned to the familiar visage I’d started to grow somewhat fond of. He checked over my shoulder at the rest, still seeing to the injured, and waved a hand. A tingle ran through me, disappearing as quickly as it came on.

“There we go, just you and I now. If anyone looks over, they’ll see nothing but us having a conversation.”

“But we are having a conversation,” I replied, nerves straining my voice.

“You always have to be pedantic, don’t you? The bubble I’ve conjured will also prevent anyone from overhearing what I have to say. Quite literally, no one could hear you scream.” He plucked a stray iridescent feather from his hair.

“If you’re trying to make me feel more at ease, you’re failing. What have you done to Rawl?”

“I thought you were brighter than that. If I’m honest, I thought you’d figured it out a couple of times, but I guess it hasn’t fully clicked yet. I am Rawl. I have always been Rawl, now and in the past, and no doubt I’ll be Rawl in the future. If you’d been paying attention, you’d have heard me talk about myself in the story.”

I chuckled weakly. “I heard the name, the villager that pointed Saphielle and Yolene towards the shortcut through the swamp. That can’t be you, though. The Rawl in the story was an old man even then, and that was eighty years ago.”

“He is I, and I am he. Time does not affect me in the same way it does for you humans. I choose this appearance because it suits me. I could be young.” His face changed back to the youth’s, with tousled black hair above a round face covered in freckles and a handful of spots across his cheeks. “It’s good to be playful at times, and on occasion a younger face opens doors that one creased with wrinkles does not.” His face morphed again. This time into the middle-aged man, mid-forties perhaps, with dark hair flecked with white and a strong chin. “I used to wear this one often, back when I was more engaged in the goings on of humans. They even built statues of me.”

“Alright, you’re not human. That much is obvious, but who are you?”

“You still haven’t worked it out? I’m a little disappointed, I must say. Maybe this will help.” He snapped his fingers and where the man had been now hopped a bird, maybe a foot or so from beak to the tip of its tail. It was mostly black, with white patches around its wings and a sheen of blue and green along its tail. It splayed its tail feathers to reveal an eye-shaped marking. I gasped. The bird returned to appearing as Rawl.

“It was you at the Sanctuary, and you that saved us from the Snowbrute, not to mention just now. I assume that’s how you survived the fall from the Knife Edge as well.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Wait, that bird you can turn into, it’s the same as the one in your story. You’re not…” It suddenly all made sense, which surprised me because what I’d been thinking seemed so ridiculous that if I ever told anyone they’d cast me out into the wild for having turned insane.

“Koruel, the one and only. I was the only one of the Ilskini to keep any semblance of my power. What you’ve seen me do are mere parlour tricks compared to my abilities back then. The others went dormant when my sister Simetra sacrificed herself. Stories, it turns out, are what sustain people. Told around fires the length and breadth of the land night after night. The sparks from each story were enough to keep me going, but not enough for me to challenge the Great Wyrm. That’s, of course, where you come in.”

I eyed him suspiciously and my hand drifted to my collarbone. No one should know that, but I suppose being a God has its benefits.

“Yes, I know who you are, Pel, and I know what hangs around your neck. It’s the very thing that has attracted the Snowfiends and the White Wyrm to us. They can sense it as well as I can, but let us get to Brightfont before we discuss this any further. I am weak and I would feel the security of thick walls. Once we are there I will introduce you to the one you wish to speak to.”

“You’ll keep this between us, for now at least?”

“Of course. God of Tricks and Tales I may be, but even I wish to see the sun again.”

Pel

The gates of Brightfont were wide open when we approached. A troop of soldiers, armed and armoured in a semblance of mirror-armour stood in the archway. Dozens of other travellers squeezed between them and the walls of the gatehouse as they entered the city. After seeing no one except our own party since leaving Harunath’s Sanctuary, it was disconcerting to have this number of people nearby. In fact, I had never seen so many people in one place. My village was sparsely populated and the one time I’d been to a larger settlement I had stayed a single night, returning home in the early morning.

We bunched closer as we got nearer to the gates. Safety in numbers worked as well in civilisation as it did in the wild.

“Is it always this busy?” I asked.

“It’s busy, yes, but I’ve never seen it like this. The Convocation has drawn people from all over. You’ve probably never seen walls this tall, have you?”

He was right. The walls soared higher than any building or tree skeleton I’d come across and I had to lean my head right back to see the top.

“There they are,” shouted one of the gate guards, pointing in our direction. Another soldier detached themselves from the wall and marched towards us. His armour glinted beneath a layer of tarnish and spots of rust ran across the breast. He had a helmet tucked under one arm. Its plume was half a foot long and bent in the middle, but I could still make out the blue it had once been. The square of soldiers behind him stood taller and straighter. Harunath slowed, his injured arm trussed up tight against his chest.

“You wish to see us?”

“You are the ones who killed the White Wyrm?”

“Aye, that’s us, who wants to know?”

The officer’s face broke into a grin and he moved in to embrace the warden, before seeing his arm and thinking better of it. “There’s no need to be so suspicious, my friend. I’m Subaltern Dicen. That creature was causing concern to the Radiant Council and my troop was to be dispatched to kill it before it could harm any visitors to our great city. You’ve saved us a job and managed something few people can claim. I presume you are the warden of this caravan?”

“That is correct.”

“Wonderful. The Primelucin has invited you to meet the Council. Who was it that struck the killing blow?”

Harunath guided me gently forwards with his working arm. “That would be him.”

“Then you are welcome too. Come, we have had some rooms prepared for you all. It’s the least we can do to show our thanks. You’re all invited to the feast this evening as well, so clean up and get some rest beforehand. As for you both, the Primelucin insists that she thank you in person right away. Your rooms will keep for another hour or so. I’ll have someone send for a healer whilst you meet the Council.” He eyed Harunath’s trussed arm then gestured at his soldiers and the front rank came forwards. “These fine specimens will escort you to your accommodation and from there to the feast hall.” The six soldiers made a show of putting their weapons away and beaming at the party.

“Mama, will I get to sleep in a bed again?” Michela chirped.

“Yes, my darling, you will. You can have a bath and there will be hot food other than stew to eat too. Won’t that be lovely?”

I looked over at them all. Happiness and relief washed off them in waves so strong, I could almost taste it. As usual, the only person with a frown was Rawl, or Koruel. Our eyes met and I raised my brows, motioning to the city with a glance. He nodded and pursed his lips.

“Let us not keep The Primelucin waiting,” Harunath said. If I were being cynical, I’d have said there was a mocking tone to his words, but that passed over the officer’s head and he grinned a wide, toothy grin.

“Wonderful, follow me.” The remaining soldier parted as Subaltern Dicen walked between them, myself and Harunath in tow. As we reached the middle of the square, the rest of the soldiers fell in around us.

“An escort, and to meet The Primelucin no less. This is all…” My words died as we came under the gate and into the city. The hundred tallest buildings I’d seen in my life were all on that first street. The bases of them were white stone, but the top halves had been constructed from a material as black as a Bone Sucker eye. The white stopped at different heights on each of the buildings, giving the street an off-kilter appearance and making me feel I’d had too much Frostberry wine.

Harunath chuckled at my jaw hanging open. “Quite something, isn’t it? Left me speechless too, the first time I came here. It’s not quite as grand as it was before the ice, but there’s a special aura to it either way. Wait until we reach the temple.”

“Wait, that’s still here?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“I’m afraid we won’t be passing the temple just yet,” Subaltern Dicen interjected. “The Radiant Court is this way.”

The streets cleared before us with Dicen and his soldiers leading the way. Everywhere I looked, there were people. Some stopped to watch as we marched past, but most got on with their day as if living in a city with this volume of people were the most natural thing in the world. A heat climbed up my back, making my skin prickle and my head itch. Everything was too close. The buildings, the people, even the air felt like it was pressing on me. My breath started to come faster. Then I felt Harunath’s hand on the back of my neck.

“Deep breaths, slow and steady. I know it can be disconcerting the first time, and even the second or third, but you’ll get used to it.” He kept his hand there until we reached the Court. Dicen halted in front of the doors and waved theatrically.

“Here we are, your audience with the Primelucin awaits.” He held up a fist and clenched it. The soldiers stepped back, forming a tunnel towards the door. Dicen pushed it open and beckoned us in.

Columns of white stone shot through with dark veins lined the length of the hallway. More soldiers stood at attention between the columns and a red carpet, faded and tattered at the edges, ran the distance. Doors and corridors led off at intervals, but Dicen kept us straight as an arrow towards a pair of ornate doors as tall as two Snowbrutes stacked atop each other. As we approached, the doors were pulled open without so much as a creak by two guards either side. The Subaltern ushered us through into the long room beyond. At the far end, beneath a window of stained glass in the image of the sun, sat half a dozen men and women dressed in finery around a stone table.

“The Radiant Council,” I whispered. Everyone knew the council controlled Brightfont and the area immediately around it. Their influence waned the further out you got, until, in my village, we knew of them as more legend than reality. Those worthy few who carried the torch of the old world.

The two men were on one side, both a good two decades older than I. One was bald, the light of the braziers on the walls reflecting from his oiled skin. He nodded gracefully as we drew nearer. The other had black hair twisted into braids across his scalp, and a neat beard cut close to the skin. His eyes were as dark as his skin and they gleamed with an intense curiosity as they settled on me.

On the other side of the table were two women. I blinked and rubbed my eyes, sure I was seeing double. The pair of them were identical, down to the circles of gold they wore woven into their hair. Their faces remained impassive and I wasn’t sure what disconcerted me most, their dispassionate response or the hungry look of the bearded man.

In the centre was the Primelucin. She rose, a tumble of scarlet fabric cascading down behind the table. A ruby nestled at the top of her cleavage, held up on a thin silver chain. Her silver hair was untamed and appeared like a halo around her head. She studied us for a moment longer than I felt necessary, until the silence hung awkwardly in the room, then she smiled.

“Welcome, heroes. The city of Brightfont thanks you for dispatching the White Wyrm before it could do any major damage to the convocation. Please, introduce yourselves so we may know you better.”

Harunath cleared his throat and took a small step towards her. “I am Harunath, m’lady, warden of the Eastfold Sanctuary. I thank you for your hospitality.”

“Tell me, warden, was your journey long?”

I missed Harunath’s reply as a tapping high above distracted me. I glanced up at a slit window that cast a thin rectangle of light onto the floor at my feet. Behind the glass, tapping it with its beak, was a Skrynia.

“And what about you?”

I returned my attention to the Council to find them all staring at me expectantly. I reached inside my collar and pulled out my pendant.

A flamestone arrowhead dangled on the end of a worn leather cord. It pulsed with a slight warmth and the faintest spark glowed within.

“I am Copelthalmus Sim Donest, great-grandson of Saphielle Sim Donest, and I am here to fulfil the Moonshadow Prophecy.”

Author’s Note

Echoes of a Lost Goddess started with a camping trip to Knepp in 2022. A score of individual campfires dotted around the field gave rise to the Sanctuaries that litter Alliquis, and the Easter full moon was bright enough to cast strong shadows. It's not ideas, however, that make a book. Ask any author and they'll tell you ideas are cheap. The real struggle comes with the doing, when the mirror-bright shine of a new idea has worn off and you're trudging through the Blackmire of plot.

To that end, Echoes wouldn't have existed without my wife, and it certainly wouldn't have such a stunning cover. There have been many times over the last eighteen months when I wanted to jack it all in, but Lizzie kept me topped up with Yorkshire Tea and convinced me I was doing the right thing. Echoes is the first book of mine to be released into the world, though it's not the first I've written. That journey across the frozen wastelands of writerdom started at school. It would be remiss of me not to thank my first writing partner, James. The sort of annoying bastard who’d sit at a computer and smash out more words in a day than I can muster in a week. Together we learnt the foundations of story, what works and – more often than not – what doesn't, and how to bodge them together into a semblance of a book.

However, I didn't take my writing seriously until I stumbled upon a certain writing podcast some time around 2018. Since then, The Bestseller Experiment has been the accompaniment to my Monday commute, filling my ears with advice and encouragement from hundreds of best-selling authors. In 2021 I started the 200 words a day challenge with the aim to get something down each day. Almost half a million words later, I'd say it worked. Not just that, a shout out on the podcast would light a fire under me for days, and I'm lucky enough to have got to know Mr Stay in person. A proper gentleman and one of the good guys of the writing world.

Finally, I have to give thanks for the awesome community of writers and readers I've been lucky to be part of over the last few years. To have people champion Echoes in this way has been nothing short of a dream. Craig, Steve, Geoff, and many others. You all know who you are, and I owe you a beverage of your choice at the next convention.