“Don’t worry, she’ll forgive you … eventually.”
Dain met Lilia’s gaze over the rim of his tankard of ale. They sat in a booth, in the corner of Hillbrook’s only tavern. Saul had gone off to the privy and Ryana was speaking with the establishment’s owner; a short, thickset fellow with a bald head that gleamed in the light of the flickering cressets lining the timber paneled walls.
Lilia stifled a wince. Ryana was the least of her worries. Now that the incident was behind her, she felt shaky and slightly ill. In hindsight, it hadn’t been the cleverest thing she’d ever done; and if the others hadn’t been there to protect her she could have ended up tied to the obelisk overnight.
Left as an offering for the servants of the shadows.
Lilia shuddered, her fingers tightening around her tankard. “The world beyond our isle is so brutal,” she murmured. “I don’t like it much.”
Dain responded with a wry smile. “Don’t fool yourself into thinking the folk of Port Needle wouldn’t act the same as those here, if threatened. When it comes down to it, people are people wherever you go.”
“They are,” Ryana agreed as she slid into the booth next to Dain. “I’ve traveled enough to confirm you’re right.”
Lilia eyed Ryana warily. “So why did you choose to live on Orin, if folk aren’t any better there than in Rithmar?”
“I didn’t end up on your isle seeking friendship,” Ryana replied, lowering her voice as Saul approached their table. “It was as good a place as any to hide.”
“Haven’t they brought us supper yet?”
Saul slid onto the leather seat next to Lilia. The booths were small, barely big enough for four, and as such Saul’s leg brushed against hers. Lilia tried to wriggle away—to put some distance between them without anyone noticing—but there was nowhere to go.
Saul noticed though, and Lilia felt his leg shift so that their thighs now pressed against each other. It was a silent statement that he remembered what had passed between them months earlier, even if she pretended not to.
Thank the Shadows that she hadn’t let Saul into her bed—or this journey would have been humiliating.
No sooner had Saul complained about the absence of supper, when two serving wenches approached the table bearing plates of roast mutton and boiled carrots and onions. One of them, a pretty girl with curly blonde hair caught Saul’s eye and smiled at him. He gave her a lingering, appreciative look in response.
Lilia stiffened.
Let him stare at serving wenches, I don’t care.
She took a large gulp of ale and met Dain’s eye across the oaken table. He was watching her, his gaze steady. The look was so intense it was difficult to breathe in the smoky, humid air inside the tavern.
He watched her as if they were the only two alive, as if no one else mattered.
Heart thumping, Lilia stared down at her meal and wondered how she would stomach the greasy mutton. She speared a piece of carrot with a knife and forced herself to focus on Ryana, and not the two men at the table.
“What were you speaking to the tavern-owner about?” she asked lightly.
“I was asking of the troubles here,” Ryana replied.
“And?” Saul drawled, leaning back against the upholstered leather.
“The folk here are panicked for good reason. So close to the wilds, the woodlands are filled with shadow creatures, and they’ve started to come out in droves after dark.”
Lilia’s mouth went dry. “You said this is the last settlement before the capital. We’ve got days of open country ahead of us. What will we do at night?”
“Put up lots of torches, light a big fire and hope for the best,” Saul quipped. Lilia glared at him, but Saul shrugged. “Like the rest of you I hadn’t bargained on this.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t have the answer either,” Ryana added. Her proud face looked drawn this evening, her eyes hollowed. “If I was of the Light, I’d be more use to you at night. I’d be able to turn firelight into a shield.”
Lilia met her eye. “Can’t you use shadows in the same way?”
Ryana sagged in her seat and shook her head. Lilia watched her. She knew that Ryana’s failure in defending them against the Nightgenga had rattled her, but decided now wasn’t the best time to bring it up. They were all on edge.
“And The Brotherhood?” Dain spoke up, breaking the heavy silence at the table. “Can you use the Dark to learn if they’re following us?”
Ryana shook her head once more. “My abilities don’t work that way. I can only wield sources of darkness and shade close to hand, and I can cast charms around me—nothing more.”
The enchanter’s tone was sorry, but Dain brushed her apology aside. “I was just trying to find out what weapons we have,” he replied. “Your skills have already saved us once, and they’re likely too again.”
Screams woke Lilia from a fitful sleep that night.
She sat up, heart pounding, eyes wide in the darkness, while outside the tavern wails and screeches split the night.
A few feet away, Dain cursed as he too awoke. On the other side of the drafty room she heard the rustle of movement—the screams had also roused Saul and Ryana.
The tavern was the only establishment in Hillbrook that let out rooms to travelers, just a handful of bare rooms with cold wooden floors. The owner had bolted the doors tight that night after closing, and warned all the guests to lock themselves in their chambers, just in case intruders forced themselves into the tavern through another entrance. At the time, Lilia had thought him over-cautious; hours later she did not.
A sharp wail of terror echoed down the night-shrouded valley outside, and Lilia started to sweat.
She now understood the villagers’ fear. Earlier, she had thought them merely ignorant and witless—but listening to the commotion outside she finally realized what had pushed them to give the mother and her simple son as sacrifice. Terror could do that to you.
“Why now?” she gasped, clutching at the rough blankets bunched up under her chin. “They’ve kept away from us for centuries.”
“Something has shifted out of balance,” Ryana replied, her voice hoarse with sleep. “Something has made them bold.”
“What has the power to do that?” Saul asked.
“I wish I knew,” Ryana replied, “although I can’t help think that you finding the missing piece of The King Breaker could be the catalyst for all of this.”
“So it’s my fault?” Saul countered.
“Possibly.”
Lilia sensed the escalating tension between Saul and Ryana—now wasn’t the time for fighting. “My shadow spoke to me in Tallow,” she spoke up. “It told me that something was wrong … that the unseasonal weather is a sign.”
There was a moment’s silence while her companions digested this news.
“What else did this shadow of yours say?” Ryana demanded.
“Little—only that it has sensed something amiss.”
“Should you even be listening to it?” Dain asked. “From what you’ve told me, it’s not to be trusted.”
“You’re probably right, but—”
A deep, throaty growl sounded in the street below.
Lilia shuddered; her heart now thundering so loudly she wondered if the servant of the shadows could hear it, could smell her terror.
“What should we do?” she whispered. She thought then of their four horses stabled below—would they still be there come morning?
“Nothing,” Ryana murmured back, a low voice in the smothering dark. “We have no choice but to sit this out. The world will return to normal with the dawn.”
The world did indeed right itself with the rising of the sun. However, Hillbrook bore the signs of an attack in the watery grey light that filtered through the low cloud shrouding the village.
After a hasty breakfast, the four companions retrieved their horses from the stables out back and made their way to the eastern gate. The horses were nervous this morning: prancing and snorting, jumping at shadows. It had been a long night for them all. Lilia had been relieved to find their mounts stabled where they had left them, on edge but unharmed.
On the way out of Hillbrook, Lilia spied signs of trouble: doors ripped off hinges, pools of congealing blood on the street, and an unnatural stillness as those who had survived the attacks still cowered indoors. Axes, scythes and hoes scattered the street—men had tried to fight their attackers off out here, and had lost.
Lilia shared a glance with Dain, noting that his face was drawn from lack of sleep, his skin pale as he took in his surroundings.
The eastern gates were still closed when they reached them, and none of the village garrison came forward to open them. Saul and Dain dismounted and, together, unbarred the heavy oaken and iron gates, before pushing them open just far enough for their horses to pass through.
Then, they were on their way.
They rode up the hill, toward the line of trees carpeting the land to the east. At the top of the hill, Lilia glanced back over her shoulder at the village below.
Hillbrook lay in shadow; a huddle of wooden buildings and flimsy dwellings that had not been built to withstand nightly attacks. Mist curled amongst the thatched roofs, rising up from the stream that trickled through the valley. Despite her fears for herself, Lilia found herself worrying what would happen to the folk here. She was not sorry she had stopped them from sacrificing those two last night, yet dread lay heavy in her breast when she thought of these people having to face the same terror night after night.
The night had left all four of them out of sorts. Few words passed between them as they cantered in single file—Ryana out front and Saul rear-guard—following the Eastern Road over forest-clad hills and rocky valleys. They rode fast, despite their intention to let the horses travel at a slower pace today. Now that they were entering the wilds, and would find no shelter, speed was even more important than earlier.
Lilia’s mare made a valiant effort; she was a hardy beast and Lilia marveled at her stamina. Even so, they rested the horses often, for Ryana warned them that the way would soon become harder-going as they entered the Highlands.
Mid-morning they reached the banks of a wide river spanned by a stone bridge.
“This is the River Brightwater,” Ryana informed them, drawing her horse to a halt and swinging down from the saddle, “we’ll water the horses here.”
Lilia dismounted and led her horse down to the water’s edge. They stood at the bottom of a steep wooded valley. The river flowed swiftly here. No wonder folk had built the bridge; it was not safe to try and cross by any other means.
Hills clad in beech wood rose up to the east, reminding Lilia of her father’s maps. She remembered that this river formed the natural boundary between the Western Cradle and the Highlands of Rithmar.
As soon as they had rested and watered their horses, they remounted and set off once more, crossing the magnificent Brightwater Bridge. Built on sturdy stone pillars, the bridge formed an elegant arch from one grassy bank to the next.
Beyond the bridge they climbed the steep hill and entered a dense forest of ash, beech and hazel. An impenetrable blackthorn and bramble undergrowth grew either side of the road, hemming them in. They met few travelers that day. Most of the traffic they had encountered so far on the journey had been merchants and farmers travelling between the towns and villages of the Western Cradle. They had passed two transport wagons coming from the capital so far, but on this stretch the road was eerily silent.
Lilia wondered if the nightly events had kept travelers at home.
Where we should be, she thought grimly.
By the time dusk settled over the foothills of the Rithmar Highlands, they had traveled many leagues into the wilds.
They camped a couple of furlongs back from the road, in a tiny clearing. Saul had hacked away the bramble here, leaving just enough space for the shelter they would need to build.
Dain helped Saul roll out the hide they had brought, over the saplings and branches to build their tent. Meanwhile, Lilia and Ryana set up a circle of torches around the tent and the makeshift railing where they’d tied up their horses. The two women placed the torches close together so that nothing could slip between them.
“Do shadow creatures truly fear fire?” Lilia asked as she wrapped some tallow-soaked cloth they’d brought with them around the top of a paling she’d stuck into the ground.
“They used to,” Ryana replied. “Once, just the sight of torches glowing on the outskirts of settlements was enough to warn them off—these days they grow bold.”
Lilia’s belly twisted. “Will these torches be enough?”
Ryana met her eye. “They’d better be.”
By the time the light faded, all of them were safely inside the tent, seated around a hearth. They had no meat to roast over the embers tonight, for there had been no time to hunt during the day. Still the heat warmed their aching limbs and would hopefully keep the servants of the shadows beyond those hide walls at bay overnight.
They had brought in a stack of wood for the fire that would last till dawn.
Lilia passed around stale bread rolls and some salted pork and they all ate in silence, too exhausted to bother with conversation. Saul took the first watch, while his companions lay out their cloaks and bedded down around the hearth. They would all take turns at watch tonight.
Although she had barely slept the night before, Lilia lay awake for a while, staring up at the stained hide wall of the tent above her, and watching the way the flickering flames of the fire cast dancing shadows across it. Beyond the tent, she heard one of the horses snort and shift position, its hoof snapping a twig.
Lilia inhaled deeply, willing herself to relax. Outside, the darkness would be coming to life. She just hoped their barricade of flaming torches would be enough to keep them safe.
She hadn’t expected to be able to sleep—not with danger breathing down her neck—but exhaustion eventually pulled Lilia into its clutches and she fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.
Until she awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of the horses squealing.