Lilia looked out through her tiny window—a gap in the tarpaulin—her gaze travelling over a landscape of yellowed grass and blackened, stunted trees. It was four days since they’d left the capital and the lofty peaks of the Rithmar Highlands now lay far to the south. Thankfully, they had also left the stinking, midge-infested marshes behind, although the empty moors that followed were hardly welcoming. The Great Road currently cut a path through rolling downs of wind-seared grass.
“What a depressing place,” she murmured.
Ryana shifted next to her, awakening from a fitful doze. “Aye, the northern territories of Rithmar are known for their bleakness. This was once the domain of The Shadow King; his fortress Dûn Maras lies north of here on the shores of Harrowmere—I imagine we’re drawing close to the lake now.”
Lilia peered through the gap. The wagon had just crested the top of one of the hills, and she caught a glimpse of sparkling water to the northeast.
“That must be it,” she breathed. “It’s beautiful.”
Ryana gave a soft laugh. “Did your parents not tell you the legend about Harrowmere when you were a child?”
Lilia turned from gazing outside. “No—what of it?”
“The story goes that Harrowmere was formed by the tears of a lonely princess.”
“Really?”
“Yes—beautiful Princess Harrow once lived with her people in the foothills of the Shadefell Mountains. Suitors came from all over Serran, hoping to win her hand, but she showed no interest in any of them. Instead she fell in love with a goatherd—much to her father’s fury. The king would not have his daughter wed a man so lowborn, so he forced the young man to join his army, and go off to war far to the south. Harrow waited for her lover’s return, but he never did. When she finally realized he was dead, she wept a lake of tears in grief.”
Lilia turned back to the view. Despite the drab weather and a chill breeze, the lake shone like polished steel. She reflected on the story for a moment; it was a sad one. There was so much sorrow in the world.
Swiveling around, and leaning her back against the wooden crate behind her, Lilia cast a glance in Ryana’s direction. “We’ve been travelling together for weeks now, but I feel I know so little about you.”
Ryana snorted. “There’s nothing to know.”
“Thrindul called you Ryana of Ridder Vale—where’s that?”
There were a few moments’ silence before Ryana replied. “It’s a village in the Forest of Were.” Her voice was wistful, as if she rarely thought on her origins.
“When did you last visit?”
“I’ve not been back there since the day I left for the House of Light and Darkness … not since I was thirteen.”
Lilia tried to imagine what it must feel like, to spend so many years apart from your family. Guilt needled her as she realized how rarely she’d thought about her Ma and Da over the past weeks. They would be sick with worry for her. She pushed the remorse aside and focused on Ryana. “And your kin? Do you know how they are? Have you ever sent word?”
Ryana shook her head. “It was too dangerous—I knew the Order would go looking for me at Ridder Vale.” She paused here, considering her next words. “If I manage to survive the coming days, I’ll go back to see them.”
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“Two younger brothers.” Ryana’s voice grew warm with affection. “They were small when I left but they’ll be grown now.”
Lilia reached out, her hand groping in the half-light for Ryana’s, squeezing it gently. “You’ll go back.”
Shortly before dusk, the army reached a fork in the highway. The Great Road now ran along the western shores of Harrowmere. Dark and still, despite the gusting north wind, the lake was a disquieting sight. It was so wide that Dain could not even see its eastern shore from here. Reeds grew at the edge of its pebbly edge, whispering and rippling as the wind breathed through them.
In a daily routine that had been unceasing since leaving the capital, the army set up camp a furlong off the road, clustered together so that Asher and his enchanters could put up the light sphere. True to its name, The Lonely Crossroads was a solitary place. A lone Altar of Umbra marked the intersection between the three roads, thrusting skywards like a fire-blackened blade.
Dain found the monument obscene, a symbol of Valgarth’s power scarring the emptiness. He was pleased to turn his back on it and make his way through the densely packed encampment.
Nearby, he heard the familiar crackle and roar of the light sphere going up, hemming them inside for the night. The sound made the tension in his shoulders ease slightly; the barrier was the only thing protecting them from the creatures that prowled the darkness. Each night he lay awake and listened to their snarling and shrieking. Occasionally, a sharp crackling noise echoed across the encampment, as one of the bolder creatures threw themselves up against the sphere, only to be repelled howling as if they’d fallen face-first into a bed of hot coals.
Despite the jostling crowds of men as they erected tents, lit fires and rubbed down their horses, Dain navigated the encampment with relative ease. It might have appeared like chaos, but there was order to it. They erected the king’s tent in the heart of the camp, surrounded by the lodgings of his high ranking men. The Order of Light and Darkness pitched their tents on the next ring out, and then the troops camped in tightly packed circles beyond that.
Walking over crushed grass, breathing in the odor of sweat, horses and peat smoke, Dain made his way to the supply wagons at the southern end of the camp.
There ahead of him, he spied the battered wagon with the blue tarpaulin, and a smile creased his face.
Lilia would be waiting.
Brand crouched low over the mound of smoldering twigs, and blew gently upon them, coaxing the timid flames to life. This far north, the evenings were chill, and the wind that blew in from the north promised a long, cold night.
Eventually the camp fire, built with dry branches of gorse and briar rose, crackled into life. Brand straightened up, massaging his aching back. He then reached for the rabbit he’d caught earlier and proceeded to skin and gut it.
The beast was scrawny, without much meat on its lean carcass. Yet it would take the edge off his hunger for a few hours at least.
As he worked, Brand cast nervous glances around him. He sat near the shore of Harrowmere, facing out across the rippling water. The light was gradually fading. It would be dark soon but he’d chosen this spot carefully. He sat with his back to a large boulder, and had placed ward stones around him, ready. He’d collected the stones on the journey north—pitted chunks of black rock that absorbed darkness. As soon as the first shadow creatures emerged from the gloaming he would gather the Dark and cast a shadow shroud around him.
It should hold them at bay till daybreak.
Brand frowned at the rabbit carcass as he drove a skewer of wood through it lengthwise, before holding it out over the glowing embers of the fire. Despite that each day’s journey brought him closer to his destination, his mood was low this eve.
The journey had been difficult—everything that could go wrong had.
He’d galloped out of the capital on a fast horse, but had lost it the first night out in the wilderness. Brand was still annoyed with himself over that—he’d made a stupid mistake. As night fell, he’d taken refuge up a tree, shrouded by a protection charm, and left his horse tethered below. Halfway through the night, the beast had taken fright at the prowling shadow creatures and had broken free.
Losing his mount had been a blow, slowing him considerably. The blisters he’d gotten on his first day marching on foot had lamed him. Not only that, but the horse had run off with his pack of provisions on its back, leaving him without food. He’d been forced to hunt and forage all the way.
There had been little food to be found on the journey north, especially since leaving the Highlands. He’d been forced to make suppers out of the local marsh toad in the swampland beyond. They’d been bony, slimy creatures yet there had been nothing else. On the fringes of the marshes he’d found brambles filled with unripe blackberries. He’d gorged on them and ended up with stomach pains and diarrhea.
Brand eyed the roasting rabbit. He was careful to rotate it while it cooked, lest it burn.
Two days out from his destination, he was now weak from hunger and exhausted from a succession of restless nights.
He hadn’t been able to sleep deeply, for it took energy and concentration to shroud himself from the shadow creatures at night. They might not have been able to reach him, but they knew he was there. He heard them, padding around the base of the trees he slept up, or outside the holes he’d curled up in. He heard the hiss of their breathing, their swearing when they encountered his wards.
He’d managed to keep them at bay, but his nightly vigils left him drained during the day. And all the while he’d kept looking over his shoulder. He knew Thrindul, and others, would come after him. He just needed to keep ahead of them.
With his free hand, Brand reached up, his fingers clasping over the ice-cold stone he wore around his neck.
I’ll keep you safe.
He’d managed so far, but The King Breaker had come at a price. There had been times over the past days that he’d wished he’d never taken it.
As if reading his thoughts, a familiar, hateful voice whispered in his ear. “Such a lot of trouble,” it crooned. “Do you think this will change anything? You will still remain beneath their notice—beneath his notice.”
Brand jumped—for he would never get used to his shadow talking to him—and cast a wary glance to his right, where his shadow stretched long over the pebbly ground. “Quiet,” he croaked. “I’m not in the mood.”
“I hope you’re not expecting them to fall at your feet in gratitude,” the voice continued, ignoring his plea. “You’re still the orphan—the son of a whore. No one’s ever going to forget where you came from.”
“Silence,” Brand snarled. He knew he shouldn’t rise to its taunts, but his shadow knew exactly where to strike.
Sure, he’d had a difficult upbringing, yet he’d proved his worth. He was proving it now.
His shadow cackled, lengthening across the ground so that it was triple the size it should have been. “So eager to please,” it sniggered. “He wanted nothing to do with you before—and as soon as he gets his prize you’ll be disposed with. Mark my words.”
Brand’s fist closed tighter around The King Breaker. “Enough,” he growled. “I’ll not listen to your venom.”
A peal of laughter rose up into the dusk. “Suit yourself.”
Brand resisted the urge to put his hands over his ears. It had been like this for three days now; a slithering voice that insulted him, belittled him, and fed him lies.
It was slowly wearing him down—and he was beginning to regret his decision to wear the stone around his neck. He’d known it bonded to its wearer; he should have carried it in an iron box for precaution as Gael had told him. However, he’d thought it wouldn’t affect him—not like little Lilia. Her shadow had ended up being her ally, yet his seemed intent on pulling him to pieces.
After the first day his shadow came to life, he’d tried to remove The King Breaker from around his neck—but he’d found he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Brand pressed the palm of his hand against the stone and felt it pulse against his skin as if alive. Despite his heckling shadow, he was now glad he wore it. Nothing had ever meant so much to him. He’d protect it with his life.
A few feet away, Brand saw something scuttle along the edge of the lakeshore. He’d seen one of these before—a small black imp with a long, rat-like tail. An excited jabber echoed out across the water, warning Brand that the creature was calling to its friends, telling them that it had found prey.
He set aside his rabbit for a moment and rose to his feet, wincing as the knotted muscles in his thighs and calves protested. Then, he reached out with his right hand and gathered the Dark, bringing up a veil of shadow around him.