CHAPTER ONE
“Toryn, use some muscle!” Brydon yelled to be heard over the pouring rain. His hands ached from holding the wet rope that threatened to slip out of his grip at any moment.
“What do you think I’m doing?” Toryn hollered back. “I’m not back here having a nap!”
Toryn was waist-deep in a raging stream of water, pushing hard at the wagon to try and break it free from whatever was holding it. Bloodsong strained in the traces, eyes wild. He was not an ordinary horse, but apparently his abilities did not include supernatural strength. Brydon had looped a rope around the wagon tongue and singletree and fought his way to the bank to wrap the other end around a tree. He pulled with all his might as Bloodsong gave a mighty lunge. The wagon lurched, giving Brydon a moment of slack, and then held fast again.
Brydon glanced over to see Toryn scowling, though his eyes were barely visible through the black hair dripping into his face. Next to him, Shevyn’s expression was similar.
“Maybe you should wake up Jace! His weight isn’t helping any!”
Not for the first time, Brydon considered abandoning the damned wagon, which currently held their gear, food, a sack full of arcane items they had taken from Sheol, two magical gauntlets, and an unconscious knight-priest of Terris. If only Jace would stir on his own. He had been in a state of unconsciousness for days, ever since a merciless blow from one of the Dark Master’s guards had brought him down. Brydon felt that Jace was physically well; he simply did not want to awaken. Brydon had no idea how to handle Jace’s incapacity. He could have brought him out of his self-induced coma, but to what end? Would forcing Jace to confront his grief be beneficial in a way other than making it more convenient for their travel? At the moment, however, having him awake, or at least out of the wagon, would be helpful.
They had been crossing what had looked to be an easily-forded stream when a wagon wheel had caught on something. Brydon had climbed into the stream to have a look and then a veritable wall of water had been upon them. Only the fact that the wagon was truly stuck had kept it from washing downstream. Brydon had climbed the wheel and waited out the worst of it until it seemed the waters refused to completely subside. The pouring rain wasn’t helping.
“I’m waking him up!” Brydon yelled. He braced himself to keep the rope taut and then sent his mind out and into the self-induced darkness of Jace’s mind. He ignored the nebulous images of a dark dungeon and tried to block out the sound of a woman screaming; he knew all too well who it was. With a twinge of remorse at being forced to pull Jace back to a reality without Verana, he used a mental nudge to prod Jace into full wakefulness. As he shot back into his own mind, he thought maybe it would be better for Jace to deal with cold reality than to spend his time reliving a terrible scene over and over.
“Jace! Thank Adona! Get down here and help us!”
Brydon heard more than saw the wagon shift as Jace climbed into the water. With his weight released from the wagon bed and the additional assistance of his strength helping to push, the wagon finally slid sideways and freed itself from whatever was holding it. The sudden release in tension nearly pulled Brydon off his feet, and then the rope went taut again. Bloodsong thrashed in the traces and Brydon heaved, shoulders aching with effort. The wagon moved forward. Bloodsong’s hooves dug into the muddy bank and then found purchase on more solid ground. Soon the wagon sat, dripping, on the ground several feet from the roaring stream.
Toryn and Shevyn looked half-drowned and they both shivered. Jace stood near the water’s edge, looking bleak and angry. Toryn moved immediately to Bloodsong and began to free the horse from the traces. Brydon coiled the rope, watching Jace as Shevyn approached him. His face was impassive as she spoke; Brydon couldn’t hear her words over the rain. He walked closer. Jace glowered at him and stalked past the wagon. Brydon’s heart sank. It seemed Jace wasn’t pleased with Brydon’s decision to awaken him.
“It couldn’t be helped,” Shevyn said as Brydon slung the rope into the wagon. It was covered by a large, oiled cloth so at least their belongings were dry.
“Let’s build a fire and hope this rain stops so we can dry off a little,” he said.
The wagon they had taken from Sheol had come equipped with several oiled lengths of cloth and they used them to build a makeshift shelter from the rain by stretching ropes between the trees and using stones to hold the cloth edges in place. They built a fire near the opening and the three of them huddled beneath the overhang, shivering despite the mild temperature. Their wet clothes would take a long time to dry.
“Where do you suppose Jace went?” Toryn asked and gave Brydon a knowing look.
“He’s not far,” Brydon replied and sent a quick scan outward. He barely grazed Jace’s mind and recoiled, picking up seething emotion built of hopelessness and anger. “I think he wants to be alone at the moment.” He expanded his circle of awareness and did a cursory sweep, alert for any other presences. His eyes widened.
“What is it?” Toryn asked, moving to the other end of the makeshift shelter and poking his head out.
“Riders approach. Men on horses.” Even here, such a thing still seemed rare.
“Thalarii?” Toryn asked.
“Perhaps. Seven of them, at any rate. I’ll get my bow.” He moved out into the rain and climbed into the wagon to retrieve his bow and quiver. He paused near the two wooden casks that held the gauntlets, and then tossed a fur over them and left the wagon.
Toryn unsheathed his sword and waited. “What direction?” he asked.
Brydon gestured back the way they had come. It was possible the riders had followed their tracks. The flooded stream was both an asset and a hindrance. The approaching riders would need to cross it, but it also meant Brydon could not easily circle around and flank them. He glanced at Shevyn, who had located a crossbow back at the Dark Master’s castle, and now held it nocked and ready. She had left behind all of the fine gowns the Dark Master had procured for her, and had instead collected an assortment of breeches and cloth shirts and tunics. Her honey-colored curls she had pulled into a tight knot and topped with a floppy-brimmed hat. If not for certain obvious assets, she could have passed for a man.
//Thank you,// she said without words.
Brydon snorted. His desire to keep her safe made him want to suggest she hide out in the wagon, but he knew–
//No,// she sent adamantly.
“I didn’t say it!” he protested.
“You thought it.”
“Come with me. They might consider Toryn to be a lone traveler if they don’t see us. If a fight breaks out, we’ll have the advantage of surprise.”
Toryn grimaced. “Nice to know I’m the decoy while you two hide in the bushes.”
Brydon ignored him, knowing Toryn would find something to complain about regardless of the scenario.
“Then we should split up,” Shevyn said. “I’ll go there and you can remain on this side.” She gestured with the crossbow at the trees on the far side of the wagon. Brydon nodded, knowing it would be smarter to attack from two angles, if needed. He waited until Shevyn was well concealed before he trotted across the muddy ground to the other side. As he passed Toryn he said, “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“When have I ever–?”
Brydon made a face and kept going. The brush was almost too thick in some places, so he bent and snapped branches until he had a vantage point while remaining concealed. He could see both Toryn and Shevyn from his hiding place, and the rain was filtered somewhat by the overhanging tree branches. He wondered where Jace had gone, but did not bother to check.
A few minutes later several riders appeared at the edge of the water. Toryn stepped forward with a hand on his sword hilt as they halted. One of them lifted a hand.
“Toryn? Son of Taryn?” he yelled. “Is it you?”
“It is!” Toryn called back.
“The last time I saw you, you were bound for a ship! Are you lost? North is that way!” The man gestured with his uplifted hand.
“Kalyn!” Toryn called back. “I might ask the same of you! Thalarii is that way!” Toryn pointed back the way the riders had come.
“We are hunting Mikyl,” Kalyn returned.
“To join him?” Toryn asked.
“Quite the opposite. He has brought dishonor to all of Thalarii and must be stopped!”
Brydon lowered his bow. //He speaks the truth. You know him?//
//Yes. He and Mikyl were at one another’s throats when I was in Thalarii. I can only imagine the animosity has grown.// Aloud, he called, “We were about to build a fire in an attempt to dry off. Come across and join us!”
The seven riders more easily forded the overflowing stream than the wagon had, and soon they were arrayed before Toryn and dismounting from their wet steeds. Brydon exited the trees and saw Kalyn’s men grow tense, though none reached for weapons. Brydon held his bow loosely, in a non-threatening manner. Kalyn dismounted and approached Toryn with a smile.
“It is good to see a friendly face after so long astride, but how are you here? We received word that you arrived safely in Silver.”
“I did,” Toryn admitted as he clasped Kalyn’s wrist in greeting. “But this one dragged me back here because there was not enough danger for him in the north. Kalyn, this is Brydon Redwing, future king of Falara.”
“I know not where that is, but well met, Brydon Redwing.”
“We have meager shelter at the moment, but you are welcome to crowd beneath,” Brydon said and gestured to the overhang. There was a flurry of movement after that, with men and horses milling about, but soon they all clustered beneath the makeshift umbrella. Shevyn left her concealment and caused something of a ruckus with several of Kalyn’s men vying to introduce themselves.
“You’ll probably remember none of them, but I will make introductions anyway,” Kalyn said. “That colt over there is Weslyn, next to Quarr, the grizzled oldster. Then the twins, Vali and Conn. Perryn will talk your ear off if you let him and Talyn rarely speaks at all.” Brydon nodded at them all in turn, trying to fix their characteristics in his head. Only three would stick immediately: young Weslyn, who had a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, Quarr, the eldest of them with a fine, full beard heavily colored with streaks of gray, and Talyn, who bore a superficial resemblance to Toryn, but with an ominous air of danger about him.
“I am Brydon Redwing, and this is Shevyn…” He trailed off, unsure how to introduce her. He dared not fully trust that Kalyn and his men were honorable, even if the immediate signs seemed promising.
“Just Shevyn,” she said with a smile and held out her hand to each of them in greeting. Brydon measured every reaction, from Weslyn’s quiet blush to Vali’s charming smile and measuring stare. Talyn seemed to notice everything, and his eyes narrowed as he studied her.
“Are there more of you?” Talyn asked Toryn.
“One. A knight-priest. He went off to collect his thoughts. Hopefully he will return soon.” Brydon could sense Jace in the distance. He had found some sort of shelter from the weather and would likely not join them anytime soon. Beyond that Brydon did not pry.
Though it was early afternoon, food was brought forth from packs, a blazing fire was built, and a meal was prepared. Toryn took over most of the cooking duties, with some assistance from grizzled Quarr, who pulled two plucked and gutted partridges from his pack. It was meager fare for the lot of them, but made a fine stew with the addition of several root vegetables and some cured meat from the wagon.
“Why are you here?” Kalyn asked again. “Your earlier answer, while amusing, does not seem valid.”
“Shevyn was kidnapped by the Dark Master and we went to Sheol to fetch her back.”
Kalyn glanced at her. “I see you were successful.”
“Very. The Dark Master is dead and his castle is in ruins.”
“Not complete ruins,” Kalyn said. “I left several of my men there to ensure it does not fall into the hands of another would-be warlord. We need no one harrowing our heels as we seek to bring justice to Mikyl.”
Brydon nodded in approval. “A wise decision.”
“I set the place afire before we left,” Toryn said.
“Much of it was still aflame when we arrived, but the stone interior will not burn. There were several curious doors of metal, as well, that we could not open.”
Shevyn nodded. “I saw many places like that during my captivity. I think the Dark Master did not know all of the secrets of the castle. He was a usurper, like any other.” Her tone was bitter and Brydon knew she also spoke of Reed, who had murdered her family and proclaimed himself regent in Ven-Kerrick until Brydon had killed him.
“Why were you taken and held captive, milady?” Vali asked.
“That is a tale for another day,” she said. “We also ride north to stop Mikyl from aiding those that would destroy the Concurrence.”
“Concurrence?” Weslyn cocked his head as if never having heard the word before.
“It is the collective by which the nations of Silver, Penkangum, Tar-Tan, and Bodor have agreed to live and thrive in peace under the leadership of Ven-Kerrick. This peace has held for decades but several factions are unhappy and want to change things. We believe these factions have engineered an exchange with Mikyl and the Voor. Men and horses in trade for… I admit I have no idea what the Parmittans have to gain. Land? Power? Coin?”
“Thalarii have no need for coin and land belongs to no one. Power… Well, Mikyl has always sought power, but what can the northerners give him that he could not achieve at home as the sole heir of Thalar?” Kalyn looked to the others.
“Perhaps, once he has assisted his allies in their conquest, they will return the favor and give him an army with which to subjugate all of Thalar?” Conn suggested.
Weslyn swore. “Do you think that is truly his ambition? He must know we would rather fight and die than submit to such a horse’s ass!”
Kalyn gave him a look. “Change can be insidious, and Mikyl has been plotting this for some time. He may have other sticks smoldering in the fire of which we know nothing. I have been watching him for years and had no idea of the enormity of his tricks. I knew he was ambitious but I did not think it extended beyond his own tribe.”
“Do not blame yourself, Kalyn. We all knew he was a viper amongst the grass but none of us thought him capable of such a heinous act as bartering horses with the northern countries.”
“I did,” interjected Talyn.
Quarr snorted. “You think everyone is evil at heart, Talyn.”
“Not everyone.” Talyn flicked a glance at Kalyn and then shrugged. Brydon took note of the single gesture, which spoke volumes. He met Toryn’s stare and was gratified that Toryn had noticed the same. If the most suspicious of his men trusted Kalyn, it could speak highly of his character. Brydon thought it a good sign. Talyn’s gaze snapped beyond their ring of camaraderie and a hand went to his dagger.
“Hold,” Brydon said with an uplifted palm. “It is Jace, our friend.”
Jace approached the fire and said nothing as introductions were quietly passed through the circle again. He grunted and accepted the bowl of stew handed to him by Shevyn and then he backed away and climbed into the wagon to eat alone.
“He is less friendly than Talyn!” Weslyn exclaimed. “I didn’t think that was possible!”
“He suffered a great loss at the hands of the Dark Master,” Brydon said quietly. “He blames me, in part.”
“Brydon, no.” Shevyn placed a hand on his arm and shot a worried look toward the wagon. Brydon would like to have denied his own words, but he knew they were true. Brydon felt the sting of blame himself. If only he had acted more quickly, arrived at Sheol sooner, or realized that his friends were in mortal danger. Had it really been necessary to retrieve the Dark Gauntlet first? He could have–
//Stop it,// Shevyn said in his mind. //You cannot change the past and will go mad trying. You came to us as quickly as you could. If you hadn’t brought the gauntlet he would have killed us all.//
He nodded and tried to give her a smile, but Jace’s oppressive silence affected him more than the depressing, pounding rain.
The rain finally lessened enough for them to break camp and continue on. Bloodsong was hitched to the wagon again and his new status of cart-horse did not prevent the Thalarii from admiring him with obvious envy. Bloodsong could probably have pulled the wagon at a steady gallop for hours, but such speed would cause the rickety wagon to break apart at worst, and fling their cargo from the bed at best.
They could have traveled faster without the wagon, even with some of them afoot, but it was filled with goods they had filched from the Dark Master’s former residence. Abandoning the wagon would mean also leaving behind much of their food. The kitchens had been well-stocked and Toryn had happily stuffed sack after sack with cured meat, fresh vegetables, dried fruit, and a huge assortment of seasonings, as well as cooking pots and utensils. He and Toryn were used to making do with their meals on the trail, but Brydon hated the thought of Shevyn suffering such rough fare. Despite the fact she had travelled with them before, she’d been born and raised in a castle and deserved better.
They hadn’t traveled far when the weather changed again and the lessened drizzle became a howling downpour that turned into stinging pellets of hail. They all ran for the nearest shelter: Brydon and Toryn headed for a large tree, Shevyn turned and climbed into the wagon, and the Thalarii bolted. One of their horses bucked and thrashed, nearly dislodging its rider as the hail pelted against its backside.
Brydon heard cursing and the crack of branches.
“Ow!” Toryn yelped and snatched his hand to his mouth. “Are you sure the Dark Master is dead? Has he sent a curse after us?”
“I think it’s just a random hail storm,” Brydon said. Bloodsong stood calmly in the midst of the storm, seeming oblivious to the ice pellets raining on and around him.
“Bloodsong, come here,” Toryn said sternly and made a clucking sound. Bloodsong swiveled an ear and then walked toward them. The wagon creaked and jolted over the wet ground. Brydon wondered where Jace had gone. He’d been out of sight since they’d left the flooded creek. Toryn reached for Bloodsong’s muzzle and stroked his wet neck, then grimaced when he came away with a palm covered in auburn horsehair. He wiped it on his trousers. “How are we supposed to camp in this weather? There’s no shelter from this damn ice.”
“It should blow over,” Brydon said. “Hail seldom rains down more than once.”
“The rain is still a menace.”
The hail stopped as quickly as it had begun and Shevyn poked her head out of the wagon’s cover. She hopped down. “That was not fun,” she said and wrinkled her nose.
The Thalarii trickled back to them, first Quarr and Weslyn, and then the two dark-haired brothers, Conn and Vali. Perryn, whose horse had bolted, trotted in a moment later leading the steed by the reins. He laughed ruefully. “Poor Storm thought he was being attacked by stinging bees!”
“Where’s Kalyn?” one of the twins asked. Though not identical, they were similar enough in looks that Brydon could not always tell them apart.
Brydon cast out with his mind and encountered a surprise. //He returns, but he’s not alone,// he sent to Toryn, who straightened.
//Jace?//
//No. Jace is farther ahead. This is someone else.//
Thus alerted, they were not surprised when Kalyn rode into the clearing behind a bedraggled-looking man who held the reins of an ancient horse. The Thalarii gave Kalyn a questioning look and spread out somewhat, in case they needed to be alert for trouble, although it seemed unlikely from a single man.
“He ran like the wind when I found him,” Kalyn said. “Why did you run, fellow?”
The man, who looked to be nearly Quarr’s age with an unruly thatch of steel grey hair and a scraggly beard, glared at them. “I’ve met mercenaries like you before.” He spat. “I have nothing left to steal.”
“We’re not mercenaries. When did you encounter such?”
“Not ten days past. They were rushing off to join the glorious war in the north. They claimed the lands beyond the Ven-Horns were open for plunder.”
“How many were they?” Perryn asked.
“Six. Desert filth, mostly, from the south.”
“Where do you hail from, then?” Kalyn asked.
“I am from Sandstrong, on the coast. I trade goods to the Voor in exchange for their handmade trinkets, which are in much demand in Paragor.” He glared. “Those mercenary bastards stole everything I had of value and destroyed the rest!”
“Why didn’t they take your horse?” asked Toryn.
The man stopped glaring and grinned as he chuckled. “Oh, they did. She’s a canny thing, she is, and must have slipped her ropes. She came back a few hours after they left me. I’m surprised they let me live, but it seemed to amuse them that I would be left without food, water, or weapons. I made it to the river so I wouldn’t die of thirst, but I’ve been living on raw roots and sourstick, when I can find them and dig them up with sticks and rocks. I haven’t eaten more than a handful in nearly five days.”
The man’s words seemed truthful enough, even to Brydon, and it was quickly ascertained that he had no weapons or goods. His saddle and mare appeared to be his only remaining possessions. They all pulled some food out of their packs and he ate slowly and carefully, despite his obvious hunger. It was decided that they should camp where they were and make a proper meal, as there didn’t seem to be any better options nearby, according to Talyn, who had scouted ahead a good distance.
Brydon sent out a message to Jace, who gave no sign if he received it. Brydon pushed away a pang of sadness and set about helping to rig up a shelter. Toryn busied himself with a fire and meal preparation. The man, whose name was Orpa, seated himself on a flat stone and readily answered questions, seeming eager to assist.
Toryn said, “You’re a trader. What do you know of routes through the Ven-Horns?”
“I’ve never crossed them myself, but I know of the passes. There are two. One to the northeast is the easiest to traverse, and leads to Bodor. The other is on the other side of the Hellcrags and follows a difficult path to Silver.”
Since leaving Sheol, they had followed a small range of mountains on the left and the river on their right. They had seen little change in the terrain until reaching the forest several days ago, which had given Brydon hope that they would reach the Ven-Horns soon. The low clouds and constant rain had prevented visual confirmation.
“To reach Silver we must cross these mountains, as well as the Ven-Horns?”
“Aye, but this range becomes shorter and easier to cross the further north you travel. Are you also planning to join the war?”
“No, we’re going to stop the war,” Toryn admitted with a laugh.
Orpa looked at him curiously. “That’s…quite the ambition. It’s difficult to stop a war once begun. How do you hope to accomplish such a thing?”
Toryn shrugged. “We have our ways.” He looked at Brydon and winked.
Brydon frowned. He had hoped to contact Rakyn and warn him of Mikyl’s involvement, as well as the full measure of the plot in which Sellaris had been involved. A mounted army was no joke. So far his attempts had been met with nothing. Perhaps the distance was just too great. He glanced at the wagon, which held both gauntlets. It was possible one of them could boost his ability but he was reluctant to make the attempt. What if wielding it before had been nothing more than a fluke? What if the thing realized he was no Kerrick and turned on him?
Still, the lack of information was maddening. What if Mikyl or Ierona’s armies had cut off their route between the Ven-Horns and Ven Kerrick? What if Ven-Kerrick had already been overrun? Brydon shook his head in frustration. He had to do something.