Lilia gazed at the Ice Door, mesmerized by its beauty. Yet as she stared at it, she glimpsed a flicker of movement behind the wall of ice.
She gasped and clutched at Dain’s sleeve. “Did you see that?”
“Aye.” His voice was low and wary. “Ryana … what—”
Before he’d even finished his sentence, the shadows behind the Ice Door moved once more and all four of them watched a dark shape shift into view on the other side—a man’s silhouette.
Lilia froze.
The Shadow King stood before them.
He was a big man, standing at nearly seven feet, and broad. It was impossible to discern his features, or to pick out his clothing through the thick ice, but she could see he was dark-haired, black-clad, and wore a heavy cloak of some kind.
All these centuries, and here he was—an immortal doomed to live out his existence in his mountain prison. Even through the barrier of ice, Lilia sensed his malice, his hunger. For the first time since entering The Caverns of the Lost, she felt true fear.
“Ryana,” she whispered, her voice quavering. “Does he know we’re here?”
“Aye,” Ryana murmured, her own voice catching as she struggled to control her reaction. “He thinks we’ve come to free him.”
Saul cleared his throat. “Can he hear us?”
Ryana glanced over at Saul. “I don’t think so … the ice looks at least five-feet thick.” She kept her gaze averted from the door and the looming shadow behind it as she spoke. “Come—dawn is approaching. The others will be here soon, we need to get ready.”
Lilia turned her back on the Ice Door, and looked around the large cavern in which they stood. Fine gravel covered the floor, and minerals in the walls made the cavern sparkle in the torchlight. Above, she glimpsed the cloud-covered sky through the crevice in the ceiling. It was starting to lighten. Ryana had told them that Gael and Brand planned to lift the cloud cover so that sunlight could filter into this chamber.
Nervousness fluttered in the pit of her belly.
They’d reached journey’s end. This was where they’d make their stand. She looked around at her companions. Dain was sliding the two torches they’d brought with them into brackets either side of the entrance, Ryana was in the tunnel beyond setting her wards, and Saul was standing a few feet back from the door, staring at it.
Feeling Lilia’s gaze upon him, he glanced over at her. “So this is what father hoped to hold over his enemies?” Their gazes flicked back to The Shadow King. The silhouette had not moved; Valgarth appeared to be staring directly out at them.
“It’s a dangerous game he’s playing,” Dain replied from behind them. “Does he really think he can control Valgarth?”
“He’s not a fool—I don’t think he ever intended to release him,” Saul replied. “The Shadow King was to be leverage, nothing more. My father knows the power of fear and uncertainty.”
The crunch of gravel behind them made Lilia turn. Ryana had emerged from the tunnel, although she was still moving her hands before her, as if she were spinning a net.
“Is it done?” Lilia asked.
Ryana nodded. “We’ll know if anyone approaches. I’m also going to cast a shroud across the entrance to this room, just so they don’t see the light from our torches.”
“Do you want us to put them out?”
Ryana shook her head. “We’ll need light later, when we leave.”
Dain stepped forward. “What’s the plan?”
“I’ll attack first,” she replied. “I’ll have the Dark gathered, ready, and I’ll hit them hard, and try to do as much damage as possible in that first strike.” Ryana’s gaze flicked from Dain to Saul. “As soon as I’ve attacked, I need you both to jump in. I suggest you use knives, rather than swords, as the closer you get to them the safer it is. Don’t give them room to gather the Dark against you.”
Saul nodded, although he was frowning. “Won’t they detect your wards?”
“Not unless they’re looking for them.”
“And will they be?”
Ryana let out a heavy sigh. “We’re in trouble if they are.”
“What about me?” Lilia interrupted. “What do you want me to do?”
“Keep back during the attack,” Ryana replied, her attention shifting up to the crevice in the roof, where the grey tones of dawn were beginning to filter through. “But be ready to defend yourself, if needed.”
Lilia stiffened. “Is that it?”
Ryana gave a humorless laugh. “You’d better hope so. If it gets to the point where you need to act, things will have gone very badly for the rest of us.”
“Get ready to grab The King Breaker, Lily,” Dain said gently. “You can’t let them use it.”
Lilia nodded, grateful that one of them at least had given her a task. She didn’t want to be left useless on the sidelines; she wanted to help.
Gael and Brand climbed the final stretch up to the entrance to The Caverns of the Lost as the muted light of the breaking day stretched across the sky to the east. Behind them, the roar of battle sounded like ocean waves breaking on a rocky shore. The screams and explosions in the valley were muted at this height.
The colonnaded entrance stood out ahead—even in the murky light—great columns of black volcanic rock.
The two men stopped before it.
Gael glanced up, squinting. The timing was perfect. They needed to gather the Dark, while there was still enough darkness to wield it properly. Yet it wasn’t too early either—the shadows wouldn’t be able to hold the cloud cap aloft for long. There would be just enough time to get inside, fuse the stones together and open the door.
He lowered his face and cast a speculative look across at Brand. “Ready?”
The young man nodded.
Without another word between them, they began to gather the Dark. They’d rehearsed this, planned it, for it would take an enormous amount of concentration and effort to push the clouds back.
Gael moved his right hand before him, and felt the dark-inked star on his palm begin to tingle. He channeled his thoughts, drove everything else out. All that existed were the shadowy corners; the pockets of darkness around him, where his allies waited. He drew them out, gathered them to him, waiting until Brand had done the same. Then, in unison, they brought their right hands up, palms upraised to the heavens, and sent a wall of hissing darkness up into the clouds.
Gael watched, scarcely breathing, as the darkness fanned out. And then, the clouds parted. A shaft of sunlight slid across the face of the mountain.
After weeks of dull grey weather, the brightness stung his eyes. Even though they were in the far north of Serran, the warm light reminded Gael that it was mid-summer. With everything that had happened of late, it was easy to forget that.
Brand turned to him, grinning. “We did it.”
Gael smiled back, before stepping close to him. Then he reached down, drew a knife from his boot and—in one deft movement—slit Brand’s throat. He moved so swiftly that Brand didn’t even have time to bring his hands up to defend himself.
Brand stared at him, mouth gaping. Then he crumpled, dropping his torch and clawing at his lacerated throat. The warm, metallic stench of blood filled the morning air. Gael took a couple of steps back and watched the enchanter die. There was a lot of blood; he’d severed a major artery, but Brand took a few moments to fade, flapping around on the stony ground like a stabbed eel.
When he finally lay still, Gael moved forward, reached under the collar of his robe and drew the necklace Brand wore out. The second half of The King Breaker was ice-cold in his palm, despite that it had lain against the enchanter’s skin.
Gael yanked it free, snapping the chain, before pocketing it inside his leather jerkin.
He wiped off his blade on Brand’s robe, retrieved the fallen torch and straightened up. His gaze returned to Brand’s face. The shock and dismay he saw there was almost comical.
“I told you not to wear it,” he murmured. “We should choose our loyalties with care—you’d have gone far if you’d listened to me.”
He’d explained to Brand how important it was not to carry the stone unshielded. It had to lie inside an iron box, to protect its wearer from enslavement. He hadn’t wanted to kill Brand. He’d been a useful ally, and an enchanter of considerable talent; yet Gael knew that once they stood before the Ice Door, Brand would refuse to hand over his half of The King Breaker over. The fool seemed to think he’d be able to conquer the instinct to protect the stone.
Gael knew better.
He slid the knife back into his boot and walked toward the entrance. It felt strange, crude, to kill a man with a blade rather than using the Dark, but he hadn’t want to drain himself. Once he freed Valgarth he was likely to have to demonstrate his abilities to The Shadow King. He wished to conserve his energy for that.
Glancing up at the pale blue sky now showing above the mountains, Gael strode inside.
He’d been inside The Caverns of the Lost numerous times now, but The Hall of the Night Sky never failed to awe him. The fine hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he traversed the length of the hall. Streams of light now pooled on the mosaic floor, illuminating the dust motes that drifted down from the slitted windows high above. Gael’s gaze rested upon the magnificent obsidian throne at the back of the hall. Soon, the rightful ruler of Serran would be seated there.
I need to hurry.
Gael lengthened his stride, the leather cloak that hung from his shoulders billowing out behind him as he moved. He entered the long tunnel behind the hall and followed it to the gallery beyond. However, once he reached the wide, circular space, Gael halted.
He and Brand had spent hours in here, combing the tunnels till they found the Ice Door. As such, their footprints were everywhere, tracking across the fine layer of dust covering the stone floor.
But things looked different since the last time he’d been up here. There were even more footprints than before, and the dust was brushed away in the center of the floor, as if someone had sat down upon it.
Gael tensed, his instincts sharpening.
He hadn’t expected this. He’d thought that King Nathan and the Enchanters of Light and Darkness would be too preoccupied by the battle to send a party up to the Ice Door.
Gael whispered a curse.
Idiot.
He should have anticipated they would try to stop him here.
He dug into a pocket of his cloak and retrieved the iron box he always carried with him. Opening it, he extracted the stone and pocketed it inside his jerkin, next to its twin. If there was an ambush waiting for him at the Ice Door, he would need quick and easy access to the two pieces of The King Breaker. He couldn’t waste time fumbling for them.
Gael entered the long tunnel leading to the door. His pace was slower, more cautious now. He stepped lightly, his right hand sweeping before him, gathering the Dark and sending it ahead to ensure the way was clear. However, the closer he got to the cavern the tenser he became. He didn’t need his shadow scouts to warn him something was amiss; he could smell it.
Another enchanter of the Dark was nearby, he sensed their power. More worrying still was that there was something familiar about the sensation, like a scent he couldn’t quite place but recognized nonetheless. The signature was subtle, so finely woven that if he hadn’t been searching for it, he might have missed it completely.
Gael slowed and deepened his breathing, flexing his right hand next to him as he gathered the Dark close.
His best chance of reaching the door was to hit them hard. Suddenly he regretted slitting Brand’s throat—the enchanter would have been useful to have at his side now.
He tread as gently as possible, his gaze shifting to the far end of the tunnel. Daylight should have been filtering into it, yet a veil of darkness hung over the exit: a shadow shroud. The sense of familiarity grew stronger here, tugging at the recesses of his mind. Whoever waited for him behind that veil, he knew them.
Gael narrowed his gaze, focusing. He’d shred that barrier of shadows like a cobweb, and then he’d deal with those waiting for him. He swept his hand around him and hissed a string of words to the darkness. Then he hurled himself down the tunnel.
He burst through the veil, the shadows he’d sent before him tearing through it, while the rest of the Dark formed a protective shroud around him.
Gael dove through the entrance to the cavern, deliberately keeping low. Something lethal—the Dark concentrated into one killing blow—skimmed just above his head. Even as he moved, his body coiling for attack, Gael scanned his surroundings.
The Ice Door glistened in the dawn light streaming down from the ceiling. A dark figure loomed behind it. There were four of them in the cavern, waiting for him—but only one of them was an enchanter.
Gael dropped and rolled, coming to his feet just two yards from the door.
Moving on instinct now, he pivoted, gathering the Dark to him once more as he faced the enchanter who’d come so close to cleaving his skull in two.
His gaze fused with a familiar pair of grey-blue eyes.
Ryana of Ridder Vale stared back at him.