Dain stood at the top of the mountainside and struggled to catch his breath. It felt as if it had taken them half the night to climb up here. His fingers burned from clinging onto ledges, and his shoulders throbbed from the effort. He stood upon the road—a narrow stony track that curled up from the valley below before entering the mountain. It would have been quicker to have taken that road up here, but since to do so would have taken them back into the enemy camp, they’d had no choice but to take the longer, and harder route.
Next to him, Ryana, Lilia and Saul had all collapsed onto the stony ground, panting, as they recovered from the climb. Saul looked to be in a bad way, groaning softly as he lay on his side.
Good. However, Dain was surprised that Saul appeared in so much pain. I didn’t hurt him that badly. He remembered then that Lilia had stabbed Saul when he’d tried to take the stone. The wound had soured—that was why Saul had alerted them to his presence, why he’d been so easy to overpower.
The realization didn’t make Dain feel any pity for him though.
I’ll save that for Lily, she has more than enough for the both of us.
Although they’d mended things a little during their climb up the mountainside, Dain was still sore over the fact that Saul wasn’t lying dead in the gully they’d discovered him in. Even injured, the man was dangerous. Lilia knew that, yet her soft heart blinded her. Ryana knew that, yet her desperation to stop Gael and Brand from freeing The Shadow King made her cast it aside.
I’m the only one who can see that the moment he has his chance, he’ll turn on us.
Wiping sweat out of his eyes, Dain looked up at the heavens. The heavy, cloud-covered night sky pressed down upon them. This high up, the sounds of battle had muted slightly. The flares from the Enchanters of the Light continued to illuminate the sky in bursts.
I hope Asher’s managing.
Dain turned his attention to the archway before him, a black maw leading into the darkness, and felt a pang of misgiving. He had the nagging feeling they’d had it easy so far. He walked over to the edge of the road, peering down at the sea of jagged rocks beneath.
“What now?” he asked his companions. “I take it Valgarth’s lair is somewhere inside that mountain?”
“Aye,” Ryana replied, getting to her feet behind him. “I wish I’d paid more attention to my history tutorials when I was an apprentice.” She paused here, gathering her thoughts. “This will be the entrance to The Caverns of the Lost, named for the thousands who died carving tunnels and chambers out of the rock. He wanted a second fortress here, should Dûn Maras ever fall.”
“But he was defeated before work was ever completed,” Dain added, remembering the history from the fireside tales of his Nan. “It’s supposed to be little more than a network of rough-hewn passages and crude chambers.”
“And somewhere inside is the Ice Door?” Lilia asked. “How will we find it?”
“We’ve got time,” Ryana replied. “There are still a few hours till daybreak.”
“But in the dark?” Lilia sounded unconvinced, and Dain realized how frightening this would be for her. Lilia hated the darkness—but would now have to venture deep inside a network of unlit passageways.
Ryana stepped back from the mountain ledge. “There should be unlit torches by the door. Let’s check. Dain, did you bring some flint and tinder?”
Dain went cold. He’d hurriedly filled the pack he carried, and had rope, food and water—but no flint or tinder.
Shit.
“I’ve got some,” Saul spoke up, his voice raspy. “Lucky for you, Dain.”
Dain clenched his jaw.
“Come on,” Ryana interrupted. “Let’s see if I can find a torch.”
They walked up to the mouth of the cavern. Dain could just make out the outlines of two gigantic columns. He reached out to touch one, and was surprised to discover it was made of a slippery, cold stone: obsidian.
Nearby, he heard the scuff of Ryana’s boots as she moved along the wall, the whisper of her hands tracing the stone as she searched for torches. It took her awhile, and he was beginning to think they’d have to travel blind into the mountain, when he heard her exhale sharply. “Here, I’ve found one.”
Sweat slid down Asher’s back. The muscles in his shoulders and forearms screamed as he fought to keep the plume of fire aloft with his right hand.
In his left he carried a flaming pitch torch. It was his light source—and without it, he’d have nothing to gather the Light from. Even so, he could feel his connection waver. It was usually a steady flow, a deep thread of power from his core, as strong as an iron coil.
Not so tonight.
Stay with me.
The final moments before battle, after the parley ended, had been hard. Fear had cramped his bowels and turned his legs weak; the sour odor of terror smothered him. Unlike some of the men and women surrounding him, Asher had fought the shadow creatures before—but those had been brief, violent skirmishes with roaming bands. This battle was a different beast.
His courage had hung by a thread.
Yet the moment the two armies had rushed at each other, howling and screaming, Asher’s fear left him. The surge had caught him, carried him aloft as if upon the crest of a wave. There was no time for panic, no time for any thought save killing.
The star branded onto the palm of his right hand glowed silver; pulsing white-hot in the darkness. Apart from the torch in his left hand, it was the only weapon he wielded.
Don’t fail me.
Asher fought in the middle of the field now. His world had shrunk to a diameter of five-feet around him, hemmed in by a wall of writhing bodies. He had no idea where Thrindul and Irana were, if they were even still alive, or whether King Nathan was safe.
Asher was now concerned wholly with his own survival.
He and his enchanters had cut a swathe through the front ranks of shadow creatures, and now he faced men: big, leather-clad men brandishing iron and steel.
Till now, the Light had proved a powerful weapon, for the creatures of darkness shrank away from it, or fell back howling when he lashed whips of fire into their midst. But The Brotherhood weren’t afraid of the Light. They ran at the enchanters, screaming filth and swinging broadswords, double-headed axes and huge, spiked maces.
In front of Asher, one of the enchanters of the Light—a man named Brennan—went down. A blade sliced through the enchanter’s neck, spraying Asher with blood. Brennan crumpled. There was no time to help him, no time to even glance down to see his end, for a hand axe flew through the air, straight at Asher’s forehead.
Asher twisted and ducked. The axe skimmed past him, catching his temple as it went. Only his quick reflexes had saved him from having it embedded in his skull. A stinging pain flowered across his forehead, and he felt the wet warmth of blood trickling down his cheek. But, once again, there was no time to hesitate.
The Brotherhood closed in on him.
Four of them—big bastards with faces twisted in savagery—advanced. Asher couldn’t see any of the other enchanters now, or Nathan’s soldiers.
He stood alone.
Asher’s gaze swept over them, taking their measure. There was no fear, no panic. Time slowed down. The roar of battle quietened, and Asher’s head cleared. There was nothing but stillness now. He stood in the eye of the storm, where even his own thoughts could not intrude.
He met the gaze of one of The Brotherhood warriors coming for him; the biggest of the four who swung a mace the size of a man’s head.
Come, he called to the Light as he swept his right hand before him. We’re not finished yet.
This close to death, life had never seemed so precious. He’d never take it for granted again. He’d fight for it—right to the bitter end.
Light flared in his right hand, so bright that the men flinched and shielded their eyes from the glare.
Recovering swiftly, they lunged, howling the battle cry of The Brotherhood.
Grinning savagely, Asher stepped forward to meet them.
The flare of the torch sputtering into life made Lilia draw back. She squinted, raising her hand to shield her eyes from the glare. After hours spent in darkness, her eyes had adjusted to it. The light hurt her now.
Recovering, she glanced around at her companions. One look at their faces told Lilia of the strain they’d all been under. Ryana’s eyes were hollowed in the flickering light, her face all tight angles, her mouth thinned. Dain was haggard, although he wore a hard expression, his blue eyes narrowed against the light. And Saul … Saul was a mess. One eye was swollen shut, his bottom lip was split and his nose was broken, swollen and bruised.
Lilia sucked in her breath. “Shadows, Saul … your face.”
Saul gave her a lopsided smile, wincing as his lip hurt him.
Lilia glanced across at Dain, frowning as their gazes met. She’d prepared herself for Saul’s injuries but the sight disturbed her nonetheless.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he said quietly. “He had it coming.”
Lilia bit back the anger bubbling up inside her and focused instead on her surroundings. They stood just inside the entrance to the Caverns of the Lost. Massive black pillars rose around them, forming a grand entry into the caverns. It was eerily quiet in here, away from the wind and the thunder of battle far below. The air smelled dusty and dry.
Ryana held the torch aloft and stepped forward, studying Saul’s battered face before her gaze slid down his body. He wasn’t standing straight; clearly favoring his left side. “Are you even fit to fight?”
He nodded. “It looks worse than it feels.”
“I wasn’t talking about your face.”
Saul’s mouth quirked, before his gaze flicked to Lilia. “I can fight.”
Lilia watched him. She hadn’t realized she’d wounded him so badly. However, she couldn’t bring herself to feel bad about it; he’d been trying to steal The King Breaker after all, and would have harmed her to get it.
It had been self-defense.
They moved away from the entrance and began their journey into the dark. After a few yards, the entry widened out into a great hall. Lined with tall columns, with a spider-vaulted ceiling and a mosaic floor, it was a grand, kingly space.
It was also deserted.
Lilia followed Ryana and Saul down the long hall, with Dain bringing up the rear. She looked down at the intricately patterned mosaic floor, noting that it resembled the sky at night—a sea of black, studded with stars of varying sizes and a great silver moon in its center.
The only sound in this empty place was the scuff of their boots as they crossed the floor.
“The Hall of the Night Sky,” Ryana murmured, her voice echoing in the stillness. “I thought it was just a legend.”
At the far end rose a great stone dais, and upon it a throne made of black stone. The massive chair gleamed in the lambent light and Lilia realized it was made of obsidian, like the pillars at the entrance and the Altars of Umbra Valgarth had placed in the center of every settlement in Serran.
“It’s a magnificent hall,” Dain said, his tone subdued as he glanced around. “I didn’t think anything belonging to The Shadow King would be pleasant to look upon.”
Ryana snorted. “Even evil can appreciate beauty.”
At the back of the hall, behind the dais, a wide stone arch led through into a passageway. In stark contrast, although this corridor was lofty, it was rough-hewn, carved out of pitted rock. There were unlit torches hanging from the walls here, and Lilia took one for herself and lit it from Ryana’s.
Unspeaking, the party continued down the corridor. The air grew colder and staler, and Lilia was glad of her heavy woolen mantle. She hadn’t expected to like this place, but even so found it difficult not to let her imagination take hold. She tried not to think of the thousands of men and women who had toiled to carve out these caverns, before they dropped dead from exhaustion. She also tried not to think of the weight of the mountain pressing down upon her.
This was the place of her nightmares; the last place a girl who was afraid of the dark should venture. But, here she was nonetheless.
They reached the end of the corridor and stepped into a wide, unpaved space. Here, the four of them stopped and gazed around them. They had stepped into a gallery—with at least thirty entrances all leading off in different directions. A fine layer of dust covered the stone floor, and there were footprints everywhere.
Lilia halted next to Ryana, and the two women shared a glance. Behind them, Saul let out a ragged sigh, while Dain cursed under his breath.
Lilia’s gaze traveled around the gallery, sliding over the entranceways. They all looked identical. “Do the footprints lead anywhere?” she asked, hopeful.
“No,” Dain announced curtly. “They appear to lead into all the entrances.”
“Someone’s either been here searching each passage, one by one,” Saul rasped, “or they’ve arranged the footsteps to confuse anyone who came after. Either way, it doesn’t help us.”