The Grim Company

A Precious Gift





Barandas rubbed at his tired eyes, yawned and glanced back down at the ledger he had been studying. The numbers had started to blur together. He sighed and closed the book, leaning back in his chair.

Moist lips brushed the back of his neck and he turned to see Lena watching him with a concerned expression.

‘You’ve been up all night. Again.’

He glanced out of the window. Night had given way to a grim dawn, iron-grey clouds plastering the sky from horizon to horizon. Droplets of rain crawled down the glass panels and pattered onto the stones below. The last couple of days had been nothing but incessant drizzle. After the public announcement that Dorminia was now at war with Thelassa, the depressing weather was oddly appropriate. The news had been received by the populace with all the enthusiasm one might expect. That was to say, none at all.

He got to his feet, stretching out the tightness in his back. Lena was still looking at him with worry on her face. He leaned forwards and kissed her quickly.

‘I’ll manage,’ he said. ‘The Marshal still isn’t fit to return to his post. While he is indisposed, I have a war to plan and the commissioning of new Augmentors to oversee.’

Lena shook her head in annoyance. ‘What exactly is wrong with Halendorf? You’d think he would be itching for revenge against Thelassa. After all, their assassins did try to poison him.’

Barandas yawned again. ‘He was deeply unsettled by his near-death experience. His acid is so bad he can barely rise from his bed, or so he claims.’

‘And Ardling? Is our Chancellor also indisposed by the recent attempt on your lives?’

‘I imagine the cost of a war with our neighbours has had greater implications for his well-being than all the excitement in the Grand Council Chamber.’

Lena’s expression became grave. She was in no mood for jokes, it seemed. Not that it was much of a joke. With the expense of the war with Shadowport and now this latest conflict, I’m surprised our Chancellor hasn’t committed suicide.

‘I have a busy day ahead training the new servants, and visiting textile merchants and seamsters,’ said his wife. ‘I will not have our new staff pay for their own uniforms, despite what Kyla and the others might say. What time will you be home tonight?’

Barandas shifted uncomfortably. ‘I will be at the Obelisk this evening. Lord Salazar has requested my presence. Don’t look at me like that, Lena! Many of the city’s magistrates are dead. It is only right that the rest of us do our duty. Especially in times of war.’

She sighed and eventually nodded. That was precisely why he loved her so much. Compassion, concern and then acceptance. You are my rock, Lena, tethering me to my humanity when this world would make of me a monster.

‘What of Legwynd? Have you found his killers?’

Barandas shook his head. ‘Not yet. They could have fled anywhere, perhaps even north to the Badlands. The mine, Lena… every man working the Rift was buried alive.’

‘Whoever did this must be brought to justice.’

‘They will be, when the Watch can spare the men to conduct a widespread search. In the meantime, we await our first shipment from the Swell. All this effort spent training new recruits will be in vain if we don’t have the raw magic to create more Augmentors.’

Lena looked up at him. The green crystal on the platinum chain around her neck matched her eyes. Even after five years of marriage, her beauty still took his breath away. ‘It suits you,’ he said, cupping the quartz in his palm.

‘You never did tell me where you found it.’

Her tone made him grin. She always told him he had a boy’s smile. ‘Where I found it? What makes you think I didn’t go to the finest jeweller in the city and have it commissioned for you?’

She raised an eyebrow in response. ‘As if you could tear yourself away from your responsibilities long enough to waste time buying pretty baubles for your spoiled wife. Really, Ran, where did you find it?’

His smile faded away. He remembered the gruesome result of Thurbal’s butchery flopping around in pools of blood, and the lurid glow of flames licking around the pile of corpses to reduce them to blackened skeletons.

‘Better you don’t ask,’ he said. ‘I appropriated it while doing my duty to Lord Salazar and the city. If you don’t wish to have it, I know someone else who might…’

It was her turn to raise an eyebrow. ‘What, the goodwife or whatever it is she calls herself?’

‘The goodlady,’ he corrected her. ‘Truth be told I’m rather certain Cyreena will never make anyone a good wife. Though I suppose a man can but try…’

She tutted and he grinned again, pulling her towards him for a kiss. ‘I have to leave now,’ he said. ‘I don’t know how long I will be at the Obelisk this evening. Don’t wait up.’

‘You know me,’ she said, giving him a frown.

‘Yes, I do. And I wouldn’t have you any other way.’ He gave her one last kiss, and then went to wash his face and find something to eat before heading out into the relentless drizzle. He had a busy day ahead.



‘Keep your weapon up,’ Barandas instructed, launching a backhand swing at his opponent’s neck. He brought his longsword to a halt at the last possible instant, leaving the blade poised a hair’s breadth from the man’s throat.

‘Point taken, sir,’ said Gorm in a strained voice. He remained perfectly still. ‘I don’t suppose you could take your sword away now?’

Barandas lowered his weapon and stared across at the other man. Tall and thin, Gorm had the look of a clerk or accountant rather than a warrior. For all that, he was competent enough with a spear and had served in the Watch for the best part of a decade. He had been high on the list of men Halendorf had recommended for consideration. So far he hadn’t set the world alight, but neither was he the worst candidate Barandas had tested in recent days.

‘Tell me, Gorm. Why do you wish to become an Augmentor?’

The lanky Watchman scratched at his bulbous nose with a thin hand and cleared his throat nervously. ‘I want to serve his lordship and the city. Why else?’

Barandas blinked rainwater from his eyes. All around the small courtyard, men watched the spectacle with expressions of eagerness, curiosity or apprehension. A handful of Augmentors were among them. Thurbal stroked the pommel of his enchanted scimitar and smiled cruelly at the hopefuls. Garmond loomed near the courtyard gates, motionless, like a statue carved from obsidian in his light-devouring armour.

‘You say you want to serve our lord and Dorminia, yet is this not already your mandate as a man of the Crimson Watch? To become an Augmentor is to go beyond mere servitude. The magic that is bestowed upon an Augmentor links them to Lord Salazar in mind, body and soul. Are you prepared for that?’

The tall man appeared to think about this for a moment before nodding. ‘I guess I am,’ he said. ‘Do I get to choose what kind of magic I get? I always wanted a belt that made me as strong as a giant, like the one Kronin of Gharzia wore to repel the horse lords of the steppes in the time before the Godswar. My old grandpa used to tell me stories about it.’

Barandas sighed. So this one’s a dreamer, full of excitement at the prospect of carrying magic around. He glanced across to Thurbal. They aren’t as reliable as the sociopaths once the novelty wears off. Still, better a dreamer than an idealist. Those rarely last long.

‘The answer to your question is no,’ he said. ‘You will be assigned bondmagic that best complements your natural aptitudes.’

Gorm looked momentarily disappointed.

‘If I judge you worthy, I believe that a polearm of some kind would be fitting. There are several enhancements that could be made,’ said Barandas. ‘A lightning-emitting head, perhaps, or a shaft able to shape the winds to its wielder’s will…’

The Watchman immediately perked up. Yes. Definitely a dreamer.

There was a sudden commotion near the gates. ‘Get out of my damned way, Garmond,’ growled an irate voice. The huge Augmentor was blocking his view of the newcomer, but Barandas recognized the speaker immediately.

‘Let him pass,’ he ordered. He took a deep breath. This was going to be unpleasant.

Garmond moved aside. Rorshan marched towards him.

‘Commandant!’ he barked. ‘My magic’ – he gestured to the whip on the left side of his belt, then the dagger on the other – ‘has gone, and I feel like… like a part of me has died inside. Commission new bondmagic for me. Please.’

Barandas looked his erstwhile comrade in the eye. ‘Rorshan, you served Dorminia well for many years. Your bravery ensured the safety of our vassal towns and villages countless times. I mourned when I learned that our lord’s ritual consumed your magic. Of all the men I lost that night, your dispossession was the greatest tragedy.’

‘But I can still serve,’ said Rorshan. ‘I was on my way to Farrowgate to confront an abomination when I was summoned to the Obelisk. Replace these weapons and I will return there and do my best to protect the village – as I have always done!’ Desperation coloured his voice.

Barandas shook his head. ‘You ask the impossible,’ he said softly. ‘The binding spell can only be performed once. A second attempt will kill a man. It has been tried in the past, many times, and the result has always been fatal. I am sorry, Rorshan, but you need to put this part of your life behind you. I have recommended you for an officer’s position in the Watch—’

‘F*ck the Watch!’ Rorshan exclaimed. His grip on his weapons had tightened so that his hands had turned white. ‘You don’t know what it’s like. I can’t sleep. Sometimes I start to shake and it won’t stop. There’s a part of me that’s been ripped out, and if something doesn’t fill the emptiness soon I swear I’m going to make the bastard responsible pay.’

‘Easy, Rorshan,’ Barandas said. ‘You’re suffering. That’s normal when an Augmentor loses his bondmagic. I can help you—’

‘I don’t need your help,’ Rorshan spat. He tugged his weapons from his belt. ‘Fifteen years. I’ve been an Augmentor since you were barely more than a boy. Now you’re going to tell me that’s it? I’m finished? I don’t think so.’ He took a step forwards.

As Rorshan approached, Barandas felt despair threatening to engulf him. His sword weighed like a mountain in his hand.

He gritted his teeth. A man has to do what is necessary.

Suddenly Garmond was between them. He shoved Rorshan so hard that the man flew a dozen feet backwards. With a yell of rage, the ex-Augmentor leaped to his feet and charged at the giant. He easily dodged a massive right swing and flicked his wrist so that his whip snaked out and wrapped around Garmond’s other hand. He pulled.

Had the magic still been present in Rorshan’s weapon, not even Garmond’s prodigious strength would have been able to withstand its tug. The colossus would have been dragged forwards to meet the point of the dagger in Rorshan’s other hand – sharp enough to pierce even the huge man’s enchanted armour.

Instead, Rorshan stared with a helpless fury as his efforts failed to budge Garmond an inch. The giant Augmentor grabbed the slack part of the whip and pulled, heaving Rorshan towards him. Rorshan was too slow to react to the crushing hands reaching around his throat. They closed, and then they began to squeeze.

Barandas looked away. Rain hammered down, almost but not quite drowning out the sounds of a man being choked to death. Eventually the noises ceased. Around the courtyard men were silent, staring at the ground or the sky with troubled faces.

He looked at Gorm. The lanky fellow wore a shocked expression. ‘So,’ Barandas said. ‘Just to be certain, do you still wish to pledge your life as an Augmentor?’

Gorm opened his mouth, but no words emerged.



‘And how is your recruitment of potential new Augmentors progressing?’

‘Steadily, my lord. Sadly, a promising candidate declined us earlier this day.’

Lord Salazar waved a bony hand, dismissing the unfortunate news. ‘There will be others, I am certain. Keep looking.’

Barandas nodded. The events of that morning had shaken him. Rorshan had no family, but the Supreme Augmentor had nonetheless arranged an honourable burial for his old comrade. That was the least he could do, in spite of the manner of Rorshan’s passing.

‘My lord, we have roughly a thousand Crimson Watchmen,’ he said, finally daring to broach a subject that had been troubling him for days. ‘I believe we can muster another five thousand men of fighting age, untrained or poorly trained for the most part. That is a sizeable force, yet if reports are correct, Thelassa has contracted no less than three companies of mercenaries from Sumnia.’

The Magelord narrowed his eyes. ‘Then we must recruit additional soldiers from our vassal towns. Thelassa has no army to speak of, and its emasculated men are worth less than a Dorminian woman.’

‘Be that as it may, my lord, three thousand mercenaries will cut down untrained men like wheat. The warriors of the Sun Lands are renowned for their discipline and effectiveness. They will overwhelm us, no matter how many civilians we conscript.’

Salazar drummed his fingers against the sides of his throne. Barandas watched him in silence. The Grand Council Chamber felt huge and empty with only the two of them present. Timerus was still recovering from the poisoning, which he had survived only by spitting out the wine he had been about to swallow. Marshal Halendorf remained indisposed. Even the grey presence of Chancellor Ardling would have leavened the atmosphere somewhat.

‘We have no gold left with which to hire mercenaries of our own,’ said the Magelord finally. ‘The White Lady has gambled much on entrusting her war effort to Sumnians. I now regret not crushing Shadowport before Admiral Kramer’s incompetence sank our navy.’

Barandas nodded. Sumnians were celebrated warriors on land and in the native desert of their homeland on the other side of the continent, but they lacked any experience of maritime conflict.

‘I believe the Sumnian army will march soon,’ he said. ‘They know we cannot launch an assault. Not without a navy. The White Lady will be aware of your… forgive me, your weakened state, my lord. Now is the right time for her to make her move.’

The Tyrant of Dorminia narrowed his eyes dangerously. ‘I am not as weak as they suspect. Nor will I allow myself to be taken unawares again. The White Lady’s servants are skilled in the art of sophistry, but I am prepared now. If they dare intrude here I will kill them.’

‘Sophistry, my lord?’ asked Barandas.

‘A form of magic focused on subtle deception and mental manipulation. The Fade were masters of it, back when they roamed these lands. They could live unnoticed within a city for decades. It was but one of many racial attributes that made them so incredibly dangerous.’ The Magelord’s voice trailed off as he spoke, as if he were troubled by something. Barandas knew better than to push further.

Lord Salazar suddenly rose from his throne. ‘I must leave Dorminia for a time. I am owed an ancient favour, though calling on it will not be pleasant. There are some things that time can never heal. As I have learned all too well.’

Barandas was shocked at the sorrow in his master’s voice. ‘My lord… you are leaving the city? Who will govern in your name, with Grand Magistrate Timerus still unfit for office?’

‘I will not be gone long, Supreme Augmentor. I am sure you can manage in my absence. The Halfmage will assist you. He possesses a keen intellect as well as a certain cunning. Keep an eye on him.’

Barandas bowed his head. ‘I will, my lord.’

Salazar nodded. ‘I will detain you no longer.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Your dedication is appreciated, Supreme Augmentor.’

Barandas almost gasped. One learned to expect many things from a Magelord, but gratitude was not among them. For the second time in his life, he had been handed a precious gift by the master of Dorminia.





City of Towers





The Lady’s Luck docked in Thelassa four days after setting out from the Swell. The weather had held and the ship made good time. Although Cole was confined to a small cabin under the silent watch of one of the crew, he had found the journey almost pleasant when compared with the torturous conditions aboard the Redemption.

The door of his cabin creaked open a fraction and the guard peered into the room. ‘We have arrived. Follow me,’ she said. Cole got up from the tiny bed and followed her out of the cabin and up onto the deck. The sight that greeted him caused him to stop abruptly.

Cole had never travelled much beyond Dorminia’s walls, but he had often spoken with merchants and others who had visited the City of Towers. Their tales had seemed wild and impossible at the time.

They didn’t seem so far-fetched now.

Where Dorminia slumped in a chaotic mass of buildings shoved together so haphazardly that they seemed likely to collapse in a shower of grey stone, Thelassa was a soaring testament to the vision of the most skilled architects of the Age of Strife. Delicate towers reached for the clouds, framing wide avenues of white marble that gleamed in the morning sun. Lining the flawless streets were trees and shrubbery cultivated into wondrous shapes: griffins and unicorns and other beasts that were said to have roamed the world before the Godswar. Now the forests north and west of the Trine held nothing but scattered game, and even they were beginning to disappear.

‘It’s like a dream,’ he whispered, awestruck. He despised Salazar more than ever then, for his grey city and the grim, tyrannical rule that bled the life from his subjects. Here, in this place, was proof that humanity was not beyond redemption.

‘Get your hands off me, you pox-ridden whore,’ snarled an angry voice, and he turned to see Three-Finger being prodded along the ramp connecting the ship to the docking platform where he waited.

‘You’re alive!’ Cole exclaimed. He couldn’t keep the grin off his face. The other man looked up and grunted in acknowledgment. Others survivors from the Redemption began to emerge onto the deck, but before he could identify individual faces a firm hand took hold of his arm and pulled him around.

He gasped. The grip was ridiculously strong and unnaturally cold. The hand withdrew almost immediately, but it left a burning pain where it had touched his flesh. He looked up into the face of the pale woman who had addressed him when he had first regained consciousness aboard The Lady’s Luck. Cole had come to understand she was the ship’s captain.

‘You will accompany me to the White Lady,’ she said. ‘Please do not try to escape. You would not get far and the consequences would be unpleasant.’

Cole rubbed at his arm. The woman’s touch had left him feeling slightly nauseous. ‘I’m on your side,’ he said reproachfully. ‘I despise Salazar. Nothing would please me more than to see him brought down.’

The captain stared back at him with a blank expression. ‘That is for my mistress to judge. Keep close to me. The palace is not far.’

Cole did as he was ordered, trailing the captain as they passed down a broad promenade lined with oak and elm; at an intersection they branched off to the right, cutting through the shadow of a pair of large humanoid statues with the heads of bulls.

The sense of wonder that had filled him on seeing the city for the first time had turned to awe. He inhaled deeply, marvelling at the myriad floral scents that filled his nostrils instead of the stench of human effluence that permeated the Grey City.

How have they managed it? A city the size of Dorminia, yet it smells like a garden.

They passed men and women who glanced at them curiously. Rather than the scowls that were a permanent feature of most Dorminians, the faces of these Thelassans wore content expressions. One man smiled, bowing slightly to the captain of The Lady’s Luck. Cole noticed other women like her, pale as ghosts and with eyes that seemed to lack any hint of colour. All of them wore the long white robes of their order.

He glanced up often as they walked, admiring the towers that rose majestically into the sky. They were tall, thin structures, rendering the Obelisk an ugly and stunted thing in comparison. He concluded that they must belong to the nobility and ruling classes. However, unlike Dorminia, where the Noble Quarter was strictly sequestered from the rest of the city, here small residences and towers stood side by side. Even the humblest buildings were attractively designed, constructed from the white marble that comprised the vast majority of Thelassa’s buildings.

They passed close to a modest estate with angelic effigies smiling beatifically down upon them. For a moment Cole thought he heard the sounds of crying from within. The captain quickened her step and they were soon out of range.

Eventually they approached the centre of the city. The passing crowds thinned and in their place stood Sumnian warriors wearing leather vests and carrying swords, spears and other weapons of war. Cole couldn’t help but stare at the soldiers, who were blacker of skin than even the darkest Gharzian merchants that sometimes visited Dorminia.

There were hundreds of them. They patrolled the streets with furrowed brows, clearly impatient to see to some action – a direct contrast to the placid Thelassans, who kept their distance. The woman who had guarded his cabin back on The Lady’s Luck noticed his confusion.

‘You are surprised to see so many foreigners here. These Sumnians are my mistress’s hired swords. They are unmatched in the arts of war. Dorminia has no hope of withstanding them.’

Cole was inclined to agree. Dorminia’s Augmentors were an elite force, ruthless and deadly, but they were few in number. The Crimson Watch was little more than a collection of thugs and degenerates. Against an army of Sumnians, they would crumble like sand.

‘The palace is close at hand,’ said the captain just ahead of him. ‘You will show humility in the presence of our glorious mistress. Bow down and avert your gaze until you are asked to do otherwise. And do not speak unless you are commanded.’

Cole nodded in response. Yet again fate had intervened to put him on the path to his ultimate destiny. He was certain the White Lady would be impressed by this brave young rebel marching into the palace and pledging his blade to her cause.

He reached down for Magebane, a split second before he remembered, yet again, that it was in the hands of Brodar Kayne.

With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair and prepared for an audience with the fabled White Lady of Thelassa.



‘You’ve prostrated yourself for quite long enough.’

He straightened, managing not to wince at the sudden lancing pain in his bruised ribs. His eyes were immediately drawn to the figure upon the ivory throne on the raised dais in the centre of the chamber. Sunlight filtered through a window set high in the arched ceiling directly overhead, bathing her in a radiant glow. His breath caught in his chest.

The White Lady wore an exquisite gown of the palest silk, so translucent he fancied he could see her curves beneath the fabric. Her platinum-blond hair was light enough to appear almost silver and framed a face so perfect the finest sculptors would have wept gazing upon it. Her skin was as flawless as the marble beneath his feet. He stood there, mouth agape, transfixed by her unearthly beauty.

Movement to both sides of the White Lady drew Cole’s attention away from the intoxicating sight. To her left, up on the dais with her, a gigantic black-skinned Sumnian stood with arms folded. To the right of the Magelord, a gangly woman of middling years cleared her throat and looked pensive.

‘Avert your eyes, maggot!’ commanded the massive warrior in an absurdly deep voice. He was head, shoulders and most of a chest taller than Cole, the biggest man the young Shard had ever set eyes on. Pink scars crisscrossed his prodigiously muscled body, which was naked from the waist up. The giant Sumnian carried a golden spear topped by a wickedly curved blade, and he pointed it at Cole before taking a single huge stride onto the first step leading down from the dais.

Cole felt very alone all of a sudden. The giant Sumnian took another step.

‘Enough, General,’ ordered the White Lady. Her voice was soft and perfectly modulated and carried effortlessly across the chamber. ‘Our guest is clearly unfamiliar with our customs.’ She turned her face to Cole and he gasped. Her eyes were a violet hue unlike any he had ever seen before.

‘In Thelassa, a man does not stare at a woman with such lust in his eyes. Not unless she welcomes the attention.’ She glanced at the massive Sumnian beside her, meeting his gaze and holding it for longer than was strictly necessary to make her point. The man’s answering smile was huge and proud. She turned back to Cole. ‘You will learn our ways in time.’

‘Heed the words of the mistress, maggot,’ the Sumnian said, gesturing again with his spear. ‘Or I will tear your eyes from their sockets.’

The White Lady lifted a perfect hand. ‘Thank you, General.’ She turned her gaze back to Cole. ‘I understand you were rescued from a Dorminian ship. What were you doing on the Swell?’

Cole took a deep breath. This was his moment. He needed to make a good impression. ‘We were sent there to mine for magic,’ he said. ‘Most of the men on board were prisoners and had no choice in the matter.’

‘You were one such prisoner?’

He nodded. ‘There were two ships. The Redemption and Red Bounty. I was on the former.’

‘My captain tells me the ships had become separated. It appears you were fleeing your captors before the Swell capsized you.’

Cole rolled his shoulders. ‘It turns out they’d bitten off more than they could chew with a few of the prisoners.’ He placed his hands together and pushed his palms outwards, giving his fingers a good crack for effect. ‘One in particular. Some men just refuse to be chained.’

The White Lady raised an eyebrow. The gesture was so ridiculously perfect that he couldn’t stop himself from ogling the Magelord with undisguised admiration. The Sumnian general scowled. ‘I warned you, maggot.’

Cole decided he’d had enough of being called a maggot.

‘My name is Davarus Cole,’ he declared. ‘I am the son of Illarius Cole, a hero of great renown. I was eight years old when I witnessed my father murdered by Salazar’s men. I swore that, one day, I would see the bastard dead. I stand before you not as an enemy – but as a friend.’

The woman to the right of the White Lady looked up suddenly. ‘Illarius Cole?’ she said. There was a strange edge to her voice, but her accent was unmistakably that of Dorminia.

The White Lady appeared not to have heard her. ‘I have three thousand Sumnian warriors under the command of brave General Zahn here. My spies in the Grey City provide all the intelligence I could possibly need. What can you offer that I don’t already have?’

Cole frowned. This wasn’t going quite as he had planned.

‘You’re probably not aware,’ he ventured, ‘but I belong to a rather important organization – a rebel group that opposes Salazar at every turn. The Shards. Your spies may have heard of us.’

The White Lady said nothing. She turned to the tall woman next to her, who whispered something and then shook her head.

‘It appears not,’ the Magelord said. Cole’s shoulders sagged.

There was a commotion behind him and suddenly Three-Finger was brought into the throne room and shoved forwards to stand beside Cole. His scabby face was covered in bruises and a stream of bloody snot dribbled from his right nostril. Clearly he had ignored the captain’s instructions not to attempt an escape.

‘And who is this?’ the White Lady asked.

‘His name’s Three-Finger,’ Cole replied quickly, before the convict had a chance to reply. ‘He’s my henchman.’

Three-Finger shot him an annoyed glance. ‘I’m not your henchman.’

Cole decided to ignore that. ‘Tell her how I saved you all, Three-Finger. Tell them about my plan.’

Three-Finger shrugged. ‘What do you want me to say? They don’t care about us, kid. Once we’re done being questioned they’ll have us both killed.’

The White Lady waved a finger and suddenly Three-Finger floated up into the air, his arms and legs pinned in place. He gasped and cursed as he rotated slowly around. The sight was almost comical.

‘You make a strange pair,’ the Magelord observed. ‘An arrogant youth and a rapist. I’ve always believed one can tell a person’s nature by the company they keep. Now, what to do with you both…’ She tapped a manicured finger against her perfect lips.

General Zahn smiled, revealing a mouth filled with golden teeth. He placed his spear on the floor. ‘Hand them each a blade,’ he pronounced as he straightened. ‘I’ll have at least one new scar to add to my collection before I put them out of their misery.’ He pointed at his massive chest, where knitted flesh formed a tapestry dedicated to countless battles won.

Cole gulped. Three-Finger was a large enough fellow, but General Zahn made even the Urich brothers look like children in comparison. He doubted whether a half-dozen trained soldiers could have overcome this huge Sumnian – with or without a weapon.

‘Wait.’

Everyone looked at the speaker. It was the scholarly woman with whom the White Lady had consulted a moment ago.

‘Forgive me, mistress, but this boy’s father was known to me. I would question him further, with your leave.’

The Magelord nodded her assent. General Zahn looked profoundly disappointed.

‘Tell me, Davarus Cole. What do you remember of your father?’ She was a remarkably plain woman, but there was a quiet strength to her that commanded respect.

‘I know that he was a great man,’ Cole replied proudly. Garrett had not spoken much of his father, probably out of shame that he had never managed to step out from his shadow. ‘He died fighting three Augmentors. Before he passed away he gave me his magical dagger, Magebane. It was his final gift. One day I shall use it to avenge his death.’

All of a sudden he remembered the green quartz crystal Garrett had presented to him when he joined the Shards. He had surrendered that particular gift himself, had hurled the crystal into a fire in a fit of anger. He regretted that now. Garrett wasn’t a great man like his father, but he had done the best he could.

He felt tears threatening. Embarrassment warred with sadness. Perhaps he had been unfair to the old merchant. He had the sudden urge to return to Dorminia and put things right between them.

‘And your mother?’ the woman continued, interrupting his moment of weakness. Get a hold of yourself, Cole thought. Heroes don’t cry.

‘She died giving birth to me.’

Sophia had been the only child of a successful shipwright. She and Cole’s father had met when they were both young. With her unfortunate death, Sophia had left her husband a considerable estate inherited from her own wealthy father. Illarius and young Davarus Cole had lived there alone but for their maid, who had helped raise him during his father’s frequent absences. He had never learned what exactly it was that his father did for a living. Not until the moment of his death.

‘What became of this enchanted dagger?’ the Magelord’s adviser asked. There was a hint of excitement in her voice. Excitement and… fear?

‘Magebane? I, ah, don’t have it with me.’

‘Where is it?’

‘An old Highlander stole it from me.’ The admission stung. Yet again he cursed Brodar Kayne. Interfering old fool. I didn’t even need your help.

‘Where is this Highlander?’

‘The last I saw of him he was headed to the Wailing Rift, a day’s ride east of Dorminia.’

The White Lady shifted irritably. ‘Are you finished, Brianna?’

The adviser, Brianna, looked pensive. ‘Mistress, this boy is heir to a weapon that is anathema to our kind. I should know. I barely made it out of Dorminia alive. Tell me, Davarus Cole. Did you ever have cause to test Magebane against one possessed of magic?’

Cole was unsure where all this was going, but he thought it best to keep talking – especially with General Zahn glowering down at him. ‘No,’ he said in answer to the woman’s question. ‘There are no mages alive in Dorminia except for Salazar. And I plan to kill him one day.’

Brianna nodded. She turned to the White Lady. ‘I would speak with you alone, mistress. This boy could yet be of great use to us.’

Cole held his breath as the Magelord seemed to consider her adviser’s request. ‘Very well,’ she said eventually. ‘Take him to the Tower of Stars. I will send for him once his fate has been decided.’

Three-Finger cursed again. The White Lady glared at him, revulsion plain in her enchanting purple eyes.

‘Drag this offal away and have him imprisoned alongside the boy. He has abused his privilege of strength, and now he must suffer for his crimes.’

‘You should have let me deal with him,’ the Sumnian general grumbled as the White Lady’s servants approached to encircle Cole and the convict. ‘See how he likes a spear shoved up his arse.’ He reached down and grabbed the surprising bulge of his manhood beneath his leather skirt, and there was the glitter of something almost like amusement in his eyes. ‘Or my cock.’

The thought made Cole queasy all over again.