Master of Sorrows (The Silent Gods #1)

Fertil Hedge, Annev thought, remembering the name Kenton had given, which means I’m on the north side of Banok, outside the city walls. That was good luck. He wouldn’t have to waste time sneaking past the city guards or testing his luck by climbing over the city wall with one arm. Best of all, it meant he was probably ahead of both Kenton and Fyn.

Annev followed the curve of the wall east, heading for the horses. He started out at a jog, sticking to the dark shadows beneath the wall, but then began to run, no longer caring if he was seen. The waning moon was descending and in a few hours it would be morning.

Annev neared the twisted oak where the horses had been tethered and felt his pulse begin to race. In the faint starlight, he could see the oak tree well enough to know that Fyn’s red gelding and Kenton’s grey palfrey had gone. It wasn’t until Annev reached the tree, though, that he knew his black mare had also been taken.

‘Bloody broken bones!’ Annev cursed, kicking at a patch of sweet fern growing near the edge of the oak tree’s canopy. He had no way of beating either Fyn or Kenton back to the village now. He kicked at the shrubs again then stumbled, catching his foot on his own heavy leather saddlebags. He stared at them, stunned … and then wondered if his luck might still hold.

He fumbled to unbuckle the first saddlebag with his single hand. He eventually succeeded and was rewarded by pulling out his crimson avatar robes and the purse he’d received from Tosan. Annev was pleased to see both items, but neither would help him return home. He opened the second satchel and found his bulging waterskins, their bags still full of the possessions he’d taken from Sodar’s chapel. He checked the first and found Breathanas’s phoenix banner, carefully folded; then something tickled the back of his mind and he opened the last leather bag. His fingers brushed soft cloth … and something hard and round.

Sodar’s potion.

Annev pulled the glass bottle free and stared at its murky contents, his mind churning with possibilities. Two-thirds of the elixir remained, its magic liquid sloshing inside the opaque glass container. Annev weighed the bottle in his hands, thoughtful. He no longer had a horse, but he could still run the eleven miles to Chaenbalu. He had done as much after his mission in the Brakewood, and with the aid of the potion he could cover that distance quickly. He could even take a few shortcuts that would be impossible on horseback, which meant he might be the first to reach the village.

It was a great idea, except Sodar had warned him that drinking too much of the elixir would have dangerous side-effects. Under normal circumstances, that would dissuade Annev, but he was out of options. Whatever the consequences were, he doubted they were worse than the alternative.

Annev placed the bottle between his thighs, prised out the cork, lifted the elixir to his lips and drank. The spicy-sweet liquor ran down his throat, coating it in a familiar fire. He drained the bottle to the dregs before casting it into the bushes, his stomach already burning—

A blinding headache dropped him to his knees. He cried out, clutching his forehead, then collapsed to the ground. His vision blurred and his body shook, spasming in pain before subsiding into a jittery tremor.

A minute later his hands were trembling, his head pounded, and his stomach was cramping … yet he felt strong. Energised even. He stretched his legs and flexed his muscles. He felt like a coiled spring, like he needed to run and jump and fight and move.

Movement. His body ached to move. Craved it. Needed it.

Annev stamped his feet, flexed and unflexed his fist, and closed his eyes. Instead of running, he forced himself to open his mind and poured his energy into his senses.

He felt … lucid. More than lucid. He could smell the rich loam beneath the sweet ferns mixing with the dung the horses had dropped. He heard the creeping sounds of insects and the laughter of Banok’s townspeople. He opened his eyes, blinking, and the details of the distant hills and more distant Brakewood suddenly came into focus: blades of grass, venous leaves, naked branches – all crisp and clear despite being miles away, hidden by shadow and moonlight.

There was something else, too – something closer, standing right in front of Annev. A dark shadow hiding in the lighter shadow of the gnarled oak tree. The shade cocked its head, watching Annev’s movements, studying him.

Annev’s heartbeat quickened. How long had the figure been standing there? What was it? It looked like a man, tall and lean, but its features were formless, dark and flat. The figure shifted its stance and Annev glimpsed the subtle outline of a ragged grey cloak fluttering in the wind. It looked like …

A man … wearing death’s cloak.

It was the same shade that had followed him across the rooftops and startled him into falling off the roof – except this time it was almost translucent, fading into the surrounding darkness, invisible to the unaided eye.

There was something else, too. Something about the way the shade stood, the silhouette of his clothing, the aura … it all felt familiar.

Like Sodja Rocas, Annev realised.

Except this wasn’t Sodja Rocas. She had been ragged, yet her rags had been rich silks and soft velvets, tailored to look worn instead of actually being so. This man – this shadow – was beggarly by comparison. His clothes seemed ethereal rather than worn, like gossamer threads of blackness, stitched to overlap one another in a weave of umbral and penumbral shadow. In like manner, the man’s bearing was neither haughty nor confident, but cold, apathetic and passionless.

Annev felt like an insect on the verge of being squashed beneath the heel of a boot. He instinctively pulled his left arm to his chest, as if to protect himself from the darkness in front of him. As he did so, his limb slipped from beneath the short cape, exposing the raw stub of his forearm.

The shadow man jerked to attention, his eyeless face focusing intently on Annev’s missing hand. The apathy he had exuded was now gone, and he strode purposefully forward, marching in a direct line towards the frightened avatar.

A chill ran down Annev’s spine, and the muscles of his body flooded with a renewed surge of adrenaline and magic. He spun for the Brakewood and ran like Keos himself was behind him.

For all Annev knew, he was.





Part Four





Four horsemen ride to your door. Four birds perch atop their shoulders.

Each horse bears a weighty burden. Each bird, a secret strength.

The cursed leader comes to claim the life of a man he once called brother.

The faithless warrior lays claim to the blood of your household.

The shadow’s shadow seeks a rod of dark power.

The doomed cripple shall bear the mark of Keos; With a single arm, he shall bear away the Oracle.



Four birds fly to your door. Four beaks, sharp as blades.

A heron, a kestrel, a rook and a magpie.

Do not contest the birds. Do not contain the horsemen.

If you keep the rod, the Shadow will claim it.

If you use the rod, Sorrow will follow.

Your household will be cursed, your treasures destroyed.

Mercy shall claim you in the end, and Fire shall consume the hand that strikes you.

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