The Grim Company

Bonds of Blood





Brodar Kayne shifted on the old mattress and looked out of the window beside him. The sun was out, casting its warmth down on the small farming settlement. Villagers went about their daily routines in a perfunctory manner, still coming to terms with the disaster that had befallen the community. Only the timely arrival of their small group had saved Farrowgate from utter destruction.

He stared up at the sun until tears stung his eyes. The physician, Gaius, had warned him to keep away from bright light as a precaution, but he couldn’t resist. He had been without his sight for the best part of three days. There was a moment of absolute terror when he thought he might never see again, and that had unmanned him in a way he hadn’t thought possible. To his great relief, his vision had returned shortly after.

The infection in his wound had cleared and his flesh was well on the way to knitting itself back together. As an unexpected bonus, the prolonged rest had eased the aches and pains that had been troubling him for months. All things considered, he was feeling better than he had in years.

There was a knock at the door. He sat up on the bed and then pushed himself to his feet. ‘That you, lass?’ he said.

Sasha entered the room, looking annoyed. She frowned at him with those big dark eyes of hers. ‘You should be in bed.’

He made a face. ‘It’s been three weeks. I reckon that’s about long enough.’ He ran a rough hand over his beard and grimaced. How long had it been since he last shaved? Too bloody long. ‘Don’t suppose you got something with an edge on you, lass? I ain’t going to risk nicking myself with Magebane over yonder.’

Sasha sighed. On those rare occasions when she wasn’t scowling or looking as though she was about to hit someone, she was a fine-looking girl. With him confined to bed, the fractious relationship between her and Jerek had apparently deteriorated. He hoped Isaac was doing his best to keep them apart.

‘Men,’ she said. ‘Little more than apes, beating your chests to show the world how big and strong you are. I’d have thought a man your age would know better.’ She shook her head and pointed at him accusingly. ‘You’re worse, if anything.’

He tried to keep the smile from his face as she glowered at him. ‘Got to keep active,’ he responded. ‘There’s a saying in the High Fangs. “A man who hangs up his sword is a man with one foot in the grave.” I’ve still got some life in me yet.’

Sasha placed her hands on her hips. ‘You’ll have a lot more if you don’t insist on acting like an old fool.’

He stared at her for a time, said nothing. You could have been back in Dorminia by now. You didn’t need to remain here with us. Isaac would have gone with you, kept an eye out on the road.

As if reading his thoughts, her scowl grew even fiercer. And it ain’t like you’re some helpless damsel in distress yourself.

He cleared his throat. ‘Gaius says you came to check on me while I was recovering. You didn’t need to stick around. I appreciate it, I guess is what I’m trying to say.’

Sasha looked about as uncomfortable as he felt, which was to say very. ‘Well, I owed you that much. You’ve been true to your word. Of course,’ she added, ‘after what happened at the Rift, you won’t want to return to the city any time soon.’

‘Aye. You have that right.’

A travelling merchant had brought word of recent events to the village. Shadowport had been destroyed, the entire city buried beneath the waves. Now Dorminia was preparing to repel an invasion from Thelassa. He had hardly been able to believe it when Isaac had brought him the news.

Jerek had been furious. ‘F*cking priceless,’ he had rasped. ‘So what, now we’re gonna stroll into an ant’s nest of the red-cloaked cocksuckers while they’re getting ready to go to war? Might as well slit our throats now.’

The fact was, setting foot any nearer the city than they already were would be asking for trouble. They were lucky the soldiers that had come to investigate the disturbance at the mine had not pursued them as far as Farrowgate; it was even more fortunate that with conscription happening all over this part of the Trine, the village had so far avoided a visit from the Crimson Watch.

We’d stick out like a sore thumb, he thought. Even if the disaster at the Wailing Rift couldn’t be pinned on them, there was that incident with the two Watchmen and the Shard stripling. Someone was bound to have witnessed their bloody encounter.

Sasha was still watching him. ‘Since we can’t go west,’ he said carefully, ‘I reckon me and the Wolf will head east towards the Unclaimed Lands.’

‘You don’t have a copper to your name.’

He gestured at the faintly glowing dagger on the table next to the bed.

She narrowed her eyes. ‘That isn’t yours to sell.’

‘I had an agreement with your gaffer. Thirty gold spires for accompanying you safely to the Rift. That, or the weapon there.’

Sasha sighed. ‘Look, I’ll get your gold. Give me Magebane and I promise that I’ll have it delivered to you. You have my word.’

The old Highlander scratched his beard. It didn’t seem right, pawning something as precious as that dagger. He reckoned he could trust the girl, but to say Jerek might take a different view would be like wondering if a Highland cat wouldn’t mind a poke in the eye.

‘Where is the Wolf?’ he asked.

‘Hunting. I’ve barely seen him for days, which suits me just fine.’

‘He ain’t the man you think he is, lass.’

Sasha’s lip curled. ‘You might have tried convincing me of that before he almost took my head off and then repeatedly threatened to kill me. Three times in the last week, in fact – and as I said, I’ve barely seen him.’

‘In fairness,’ the Highlander ventured, ‘he was provoked. You did stick a quarrel in his arm. The Wolf’s got a temper on him and I’ll be the first to admit it.’

‘A temper? He’s a black-hearted bastard! I know all about men like him.’ She paused for a moment. ‘You’re different to him. I don’t know what kind of bond you two have, but the best thing you can do is to cut him loose. He’ll bring you down eventually.’

Kayne rubbed at his forehead. He didn’t want to have this conversation. ‘Like I said, he ain’t the man you think he is.’

‘Fine,’ Sasha huffed. ‘Be stubborn, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’m going to find Isaac. It’s time we made plans to leave this damned village.’

He watched her storm out. The girl seemed awfully tense, like a bowstring about ready to snap. She’d been that way ever since Vicard’s death. Must have been closer to the alchemist than I thought.

With a satisfied groan he reached down and touched his toes. Then he rolled his shoulders and flexed his back, forcing his muscles into their old routine of familiarity. Age could rob a warrior of many things, but as long as the body and the mind remembered, everything else was trivial. You just had to fight through the pain.

There was another knock on the door, this one more hesitant. ‘Come in,’ he said. It was Gaius. The old physician was a wrinkled prune of a man, as thin as a rake, with a balding crown covered in a few strands of grey hair.

‘Ah, you’re up,’ said the physician. ‘I see you’re feeling much better. I have to say, you heal remarkably quickly. Is this a trait common to all you Highland folk?’

Kayne shrugged. ‘I guess so.’

‘A highly convenient attribute, I should imagine, with all the fighting and adventuring and such you people do.’

‘Probably.’

Gaius walked over to a cabinet and rummaged around inside a drawer. ‘I see you found the moon dust. You know, consuming so much of the drug in so short a time is unhealthy.’

‘What?’ He had no idea what the physician was talking about.

‘The silvery powder that was inside this small pouch here. An anaesthetic with considerable mood-stimulant properties. I quite understand why you would want to dull the pain. Still, you are aware moon dust can be highly addictive? The side effects are rather unpleasant.’

Kayne frowned. ‘What side effects are those?’

‘Oh, they can vary depending upon the individual. Dilation of the pupils. Intense periods of depression following the initial emotional response. In prolonged cases of abuse, the membrane of the nose itself can become weak, leading to permanent scarring.’ Gaius looked at him with a concerned expression. ‘Are you experiencing any of these? Here, let me check…’

‘Er, I think I’m all right,’ the barbarian protested as the physician poked around at his face and stared up into his nose.

‘You don’t seem to have any lasting damage,’ Gaius said. His voice took on a slightly disapproving tone. ‘However, I am going to have to insist you do not consume any more of the substance once the merchant returns here with fresh supplies. There are many others in the village that would benefit from a small measure, and you appear to be in rude health.’

‘Right you are,’ Kayne replied. ‘Sorry about that. In any case, I’ll be leaving soon.’

‘I’m sad to hear it. Farrowgate could use a warrior like you for protection. Who will defend us with Augmentor Rorshan gone and Dorminia at war? These are troubling times.’

‘Aye,’ the Highlander responded. ‘They are that. If you’ll excuse me, I need to get some air.’

He found Sasha and Isaac by the ancient well in the centre of the village. They were sitting on a bench overgrown with moss, enjoying the last of the sun. The manservant was instructing a small group of children on the best way to handle a sword, using a stick to demonstrate. The youngsters watched him with expressions of delight, excitement and determination. No doubt many of them had lost loved ones to the magical abomination that had ravaged the community.

Poor things, he thought. The world was a cruel place, and as far as he could see it wasn’t getting any kinder as the years rolled by.

Sasha looked up as he approached. Wide eyes. Dilated pupils. Aye, lass, I’m onto you. It wasn’t just concern for my well-being that kept you here, was it?

Isaac spotted him. A delighted grin split the manservant’s face. ‘Kayne!’ he exclaimed. ‘You’re looking well! Here, come and help me out. Show these children how a true master handles a blade.’

The old Highlander tried to hide his embarrassment as the children turned and stared up at him with grubby faces full of wonder. A freckle-faced girl gave him a gap-toothed smile. The boy next to her wiped snot from his chin with the back of his hand and gave it a good hard examination.

‘I reckon I’ll need a sword first,’ he said, nodding at the stick in Isaac’s hands. The manservant tossed it to him. He stood there uncertainly. ‘Right,’ he said. His audience watched him expectantly.

The girl with the freckles piped up. ‘How did you get that scar? Did a bear do it?’

‘This one?’ he said, pointing at the side of his face. ‘It wasn’t a bear that did that. It was outlaws, exiles from their Reaching. Bad people.’

‘Did they rape you?’ asked the girl.

‘What? No. No, they didn’t.’

‘What happened?’ asked one of the younger boys.

‘I was out hunting with my son. They ambushed us from a stand of trees. Four of them.’

‘You have a son? What’s his name? What happened to him?’ The girl leaned forwards, her face full of curiosity.

He glanced at Sasha and Isaac. They were watching him closely. ‘His name… Magnar. His name was Magnar.’

‘Where is he?’ The girl again.

Kayne closed his eyes. ‘Gone,’ he said.

‘What do you mean? Did he die?’

Might be less painful if he had. He sat there and watched his mother burn in the Shaman’s fire. I never raised him to be a coward, but he sat there and said nothing as his mother’s screams pounded in my skull.

‘It’s getting late,’ he said, deciding to change the subject entirely. ‘Why don’t you younglings grab yourselves a stick each? We’ll see if we can make warriors out of you all before the sun goes down.’

The assembled children all jumped to their feet and ran off to find make-believe swords, with the exception of the freckle-faced girl who gave him a sulky look. ‘You didn’t tell me what happened to your son!’ She pointed an accusing finger at him.

He sighed. ‘I—’

‘Kayne. Grab your sword. We’re f*cked.’ Jerek burst into the clearing, sending children scattering away in panic. His burned face was dripping with perspiration. Heedless of his surroundings, he wiped sweat from his brow and spat out a goblet of phlegm.

Kayne grimaced. His interrogator stared down at the spittle covering the bottom of her dress and, with a horrified wail, turned and ran off. Kayne gave the Wolf a disapproving frown that wasn’t the least bit genuine. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.

Jerek’s chest heaved as he sucked in air. He had obviously been running hard. ‘A score of Crimson Watchmen, maybe more. Approaching on horseback from the north-west. They got Augmentors with them, one of them a giant of some kind.’

‘How far?’

Jerek spat again. ‘A league, could be. Maybe a league and a half. They ain’t messing around. They’re armed to the teeth. I reckon we got twenty minutes before they get here.’

Brodar Kayne turned to Sasha and Isaac. ‘Listen. If they catch us things are gonna get bloody. We can’t fight that many men, but we can lead them away from here. Give you two a chance to make good an escape.’

Sasha shook her head. ‘What about you? You’ll be hunted down and slaughtered.’

He gave her a level stare. ‘I’ve escaped death often enough in the past, lass. If this is my time, so be it. But you and Isaac, you still got a chance of getting out of this alive.’

It was the manservant’s turn to shake his head. ‘I know the groom over at the stables. He has a few horses that didn’t fall victim to the tentacled monster. They’re not the quickest, but they might get us to the coast.’

Sasha nodded. ‘The Unclaimed Lands are too far. We’ll be ridden down and slaughtered. Maybe if we can cross over into Thelassan territory—’

‘You planning to swim the channel?’ Jerek snarled. ‘Ain’t a man alive who can do that. And we got thirty miles to the coast. I say we hole up here, give those f*ckers the fight of their lives.’

‘No!’ exclaimed Sasha. ‘We can’t do that to these people. I know the Watch. They’ll torch the entire village if it means getting to us.’

‘Aye, she’s right.’ Kayne took a step forwards. ‘Isaac, fetch the horses. I’ll go get my sword. We’ll give them a chase they’ll remember.’

Jerek turned away and muttered something savage. Kayne ignored him. He was already running back towards the physician’s home where his greatsword was stashed.

Three weeks, he thought. Three weeks of peace. I’ve never felt so relaxed and carefree. His feet hammered on the dry muddy ground, sending jarring impacts up to his knees. They were already starting to ache. There was something almost comforting in that.

It took him a moment before he realized he had a smile on his face.



‘Not much further,’ Isaac shouted. He was out in front again, having taken the lead for most of their mad gallop from Farrowgate. To the surprise of none of them, it turned out he was a skilled rider. Brodar Kayne knew how to handle a horse, but even he’d found the uncertain terrain a challenge. The manservant, however, had guided them with an assuredness the chasing soldiers could not hope to match.

It had been almost two hours since they fled the village. The sun was a red orb sinking beneath the hills to the west. He could feel his horse heaving beneath him, sucking in great gasps of air. It couldn’t keep up the pace much longer, but it didn’t need to. The coast was only a few miles ahead of them.

The question of what they would do when they actually reached the coast was another matter entirely, but he figured it was enough to focus on one thing at a time.

He glanced behind him. The soldiers had gained some ground over the last ten miles, but there was still a good distance between them. Gaius had evidently succeeded in delaying them for a while back at Farrowgate. He hoped the physician had followed his advice and not been too obstinate with their pursuers; he didn’t want to be responsible for the kindly old man taking a beating or worse.

Sasha was clinging onto Isaac for dear life. The girl wasn’t very familiar with the back of a horse. That had become apparent as soon as she had vaulted onto her mount and promptly slid off to land in an undignified heap on the other side. At least Jerek had had a good chuckle out of it.

The Wolf tugged at his reins, closing the gap between them. ‘Kayne,’ he rasped. ‘We’re almost at the coast. What’s the plan?’

Right. A plan. Can’t put it off any longer. ‘We split up,’ he said. ‘I’ll get their attention, try and lead them west. You look for a way across the channel. Failing that, loop back around to the north.’

Jerek took a second to digest his words. ‘That’s it?’ he growled. ‘F*ck me, and there I was thinking you knew something I didn’t.’

The old barbarian shrugged. The horse beneath him stumbled suddenly, sending spasms of pain arching up his back. ‘Best outcome we can hope for is that they split their pursuit,’ he said between clenched teeth. ‘Three against ten, I reckon you stand a chance. Ain’t a hunter or tracker who can match you, Wolf, and you know it.’

‘Could be,’ Jerek agreed. ‘But that don’t help you much, does it?’

‘Just lead the girl and Isaac to safety and forget about me.’

‘Don’t start with that shit.’

‘You saved my life once already. I reckon your debt’s just about paid.’

Jerek’s face grew dark. ‘It’s paid when I say it’s paid. I ain’t leaving you to die. You want some noble death so maidens can get themselves wet thinking about your heroic sacrifice? Shove it up your arse, Kayne.’ The Wolf spurred his mount and the horse pulled away, taking him out of earshot.

Shit. Jerek was about as stubborn as he was, which meant his hastily formulated plan was dead in the water. Shortly to be followed by us, I reckon. He could see the edge of Deadman’s Channel now, the water glittering orange in the dying light.

His horse shuddered again. He patted the mare on the neck and his hand came away covered in lather. The beast reared suddenly, and before he knew it he was flying from the saddle as the animal stumbled to its knees.

He hit the ground with an impact that forced the air from his lungs. The pain was excruciating. He gasped, rolled three or four times down the slope before coming to a halt against a jutting slab of rock. He lay there in agony, listening to the pathetic sounds of his horse expiring nearby.

Somehow he rolled over and managed to lift his head. Jerek and Isaac had ridden on for a few hundred yards, oblivious to his misfortune. The Wolf must have noticed his absence then, as he swung his gelding around and thundered back towards him.

Kayne pushed himself up from the ground as Jerek drew near. He could see their pursuers closing on them with alarming pace.

‘Grab my hand,’ the Wolf snarled as he brought his horse around. Kayne reached out, grasped the scarred hand of the grim Highlander and pulled himself up behind him.

The Wolf kicked down hard, sending the animal beneath them galloping ahead at full tilt, every strike of every hoof against the hard ground igniting fresh spasms of pain throughout Kayne’s body.

Isaac had slowed. They caught up with him just as they approached the edge of Deadman’s Channel. The manservant shouted something and pointed down to the water. Kayne shielded his eyes from the sun and tried to make out what Isaac was gesturing at.

It was a small caravel. The ship was anchored barely fifty feet from the shoreline. He could make out a handful of figures watching their approach from the railing. Shit. Had another force been sent to intercept them?

As they grew nearer, however, he realized this vessel was not from Dorminia. The flag that flew from the mainmast displayed a circle of stars on a white background. Inside the circle a woman’s outstretched palm supported a cluster of towers. Kayne didn’t know much of the land south of Dorminia and its hinterland, but he was reasonably certain this was a Thelassan ship.

Several of the figures aboard the vessel had lowered themselves onto a tiny boat and were paddling towards them. He squinted. The man at the bow wore dark robes of some kind, but his hood was thrown back to reveal skin as black as the night. Behind him—

Sasha gasped. ‘It can’t be…’

The dinghy reached the shallows and the young man in the middle of the boat vaulted out and splashed towards them. That swagger, that ridiculous beard, the cocksure smile: they were unmistakable.

‘Sash!’ the boy exclaimed in delight. ‘How long has it been? A month? I have some stories to tell you! Here, meet my new companions. This is the Darkson, a master assassin from Shamaath. And this’ – he pointed at the largest of the three men wading through the surf – ‘is Three-Finger. He’s my henchman.’ This last one was an ugly fellow with thinning hair and an unpleasant skin disease ravaging his face. He looked faintly annoyed as the boy finished his introductions.

‘Greetings,’ lisped the dark-skinned newcomer. Kayne narrowed his eyes. The way this one moved, the confidence with which he appraised their ragged little band – everything about him spoke of the kind of man who was as comfortable killing as he was breathing.

The assassin continued, ‘I see you, too, are familiar with Davarus Cole. You must be Brodar Kayne.’

The old barbarian swung around on the horse and lowered himself gingerly to the ground. ‘Aye, pleasure to meet you,’ he said. He glanced back up the hill, where two dozen men approached them on horseback, outlined in red by the departing sun. He cleared his throat.

‘Before we continue with the introductions, I guess I ought to mention a small matter that’s going to require our attention pretty damned soon…’





Dark Omens





Yllandris turned to the man in the bed beside her. Magnar watched her from beneath half-closed eyes. His deep breathing was the only sound within the bedchamber. Outside the storm raged on, the shrieking wind a terrifying animal that threatened to tear the roof from the Great Lodge and reveal their nakedness to the world.

‘You are troubled,’ she observed. The mingled smells of sweat and sex and smoke created an aroma that was not altogether unpleasant. She placed a hand on his face. His cheeks were smooth. Many Highland men wore their beards long in celebration of their manhood, but Magnar had always kept his face clean-shaven. It was a brave choice considering his youth, an open invitation to scorn from the older chieftains. It seemed the young king had confidence enough not to care.

‘I am uneasy,’ he admitted. His steely grey eyes held a hint of worry. ‘The Shaman summoned the Brethren away from the High Fangs. What right does the Tyrant of Dorminia have to demand our Magelord do such a thing?’

Yllandris remembered the ease with which the frail old man had turned Shranree’s magic against her. The senior sister of the Heartstone circle was possibly the most powerful sorceress in the High Fangs, yet Salazar had handled her as he might a child – and, moreover, he had been near exhausted while he had done so.

‘I cannot say, my king. The ways of Magelords are not easily fathomed. Did the Shaman give any indication when they will return?’

Magnar shook his head. He was a handsome man, with a strong nose and jaw. His torso was lean but well muscled and his chest still glistened with sweat from their recent lovemaking. She felt her body stir as she gazed upon him.

‘We may be without our sacred protectors for some time,’ said the King. ‘I have instructed Orgrim to post additional men on the northern and southern borders of the East Reaching.’ He paused for a moment and sighed. ‘The Foehammer was not happy with the order.’

‘Orgrim took the greatest losses at Frosthold,’ Yllandris replied. ‘And the East Reaching has suffered the most in recent years. The Foehammer does not want to expose his largest settlements to the Devil’s Spine by posting his men to the frontiers.’

King Magnar nodded. ‘That was the gist of his argument. Yet the East Reaching is the barrier between our nation and the horrors that lurk in the Spine. I cannot allow demons to wander unchallenged into the other Reachings.’

A howling gust of wind rattled the roof once more and Magnar sighed again. ‘I’ve done my best to win the respect of my chieftains. It is no easy thing to stave off famine and keep the tribes from each other’s throats while managing the Shaman’s whims. He listens to me sometimes, but still… I feel as if I am caught between a cave bear and a pack of wolves. I try to placate the former while the latter look for any opportunity to pounce.’

Yllandris was puzzled. ‘You rule with the Shaman’s blessing,’ she said. ‘Who would dare try to depose you?’

‘Krazka One-Eye and Carn Bloodfist, to name but two. Many desire the throne. The Code dictates that all men and women swear allegiance to the king – yet it is also written that a weak king must be usurped for the good of the nation.’

‘And the Shaman is the arbiter in such matters,’ Yllandris said softly.

‘If another proves himself more worthy, the Shaman will not hesitate to replace me.’

‘As you replaced Jagar the Wise?’

Magnar nodded. ‘I did not seek the throne. Jagar was dying. His rule had outlasted that of any previous king. The Shaman could have chosen any one of the ten chieftains.’ He looked up at the ceiling. ‘Yet out of respect for my father he chose me.’

‘Out of respect for your father?’ Yllandris repeated, shocked. ‘But what he did to him… The Shaman wants nothing more than to see your father dead.’

‘Yes,’ Magnar replied. ‘He does. But that anger is born out of the love he once held for him. Father was the closest thing to a friend the Shaman has known. He did not expect the answer he received from his champion when Beregund rebelled. And it was a rebellion. The Green Reaching intended to break the Treaty and begin a civil war. The Shaman’s response was justified.’

He burned your mother alive, Yllandris thought, but wisely she held her tongue. Instead she said, ‘Do you know where your father might be hiding?’

Magnar shook his head. ‘The Unclaimed Lands, perhaps. The Brethren hunted him for two years without success. His companion is a tracker without peer.’

His companion. The Wolf. The man who freed the Sword of the North from his prison was almost as infamous as Kayne himself. Horribly burned and with a savage temper to match his prowess, no one would have guessed he would be the one to enact a daring rescue. Apparently he had owed Kayne a debt from many years past.

Yllandris had set eyes on the Wolf only once, a few months before the trial of Brodar Kayne. The thought of two Highlanders somehow evading the Brethren for months on end was difficult to credit – yet the memory of his scowling visage, so utterly implacable, convinced her that this was a man capable of anything.

When it came to the likes of Brodar Kayne and Jerek the Wolf, it seemed even the will of a Magelord could be defied. The thought gave her pause.

The King was still staring at the ceiling, a strange expression in his remarkable eyes. Yllandris decided to take a risk. She needed to know. ‘It must be hard for you,’ she said carefully. ‘What happened to your father. What was done to your mother.’

Magnar looked at her. His expression was unreadable. ‘Do you think me a monster?’

The question shocked her. She stared at him for a moment, lost for words. Not a monster. My father was a monster. ‘I do not judge you,’ she said carefully. ‘You did what was necessary. Your father was guilty. Your mother…’ She trailed off, unsure of how to proceed. This was so very delicate. She still desired his attentions, didn’t she? She thought she did. There was no sense in angering him. Yet…

He watched his mother burn.

‘My mother…’ Magnar said, and she could hear the pain in his voice. ‘Some things a king must do haunt him forever. It could not be helped.’

Yllandris stared at him. She remembered cowering in the corner of her small bunk, listening to those awful cries. It was the silences that followed that had terrified her the most; the moment those appalling noises ceased and her father had walked back out into the night. That handful of steps to the crumpled form of her mother – like walking out onto a frozen lake, not knowing if the ice would break and the darkness would swallow her up. Until one night it had.

That was helplessness. What Magnar spoke of was cowardice. She couldn’t stop the words from bursting out. ‘You’re the King,’ she sneered. ‘You could have stood up to the Shaman. How could you allow your own mother to be consumed by fire?’

Magnar’s face darkened. ‘You know nothing,’ he said angrily. He rose up from the bed and began pulling on his clothes.

Yllandris pushed herself up, reaching for her silk robes and the shawl that lay in a heap beside the bed. ‘What of Krazka?’ she asked, more quietly. ‘He raped her, didn’t he? Before she was brought back to Heartstone. How can you stand to look at him?’

This time Magnar’s anger was not so restrained. He grabbed her hair from behind and pulled her around to face him. His eyes were iron fury. ‘Krazka is the most powerful chieftain in the High Fangs,’ he said, his voice shaking. ‘You think it’s easy for me to listen to his counsel? I want nothing more than to cut out his black heart. Were it not for the Shaman’s bargain and the risk of civil war—’

A sudden howling interrupted him, so loud that the walls of the bedchamber seemed to shake.

‘The Shaman’s bargain?’ Yllandris was intrigued in spite of the painful grip Magnar had on her hair. She could thrust him away with a brief unveiling of her sorcery, of course, but that would amount to treason – punishable by death. Fortunately the King seemed to realize he was hurting her. He let go and stepped away.

‘There are many things you do not know. It is best if you leave my presence immediately. You presume too much.’

Yllandris was about to give an angry curtsy and storm off when they both heard the shouts and screams from outside.



‘What is it?’ Magnar demanded. His guards had their hands on their weapons and were staring up at the sky as if their eyes could pierce the flurry of snow billowing from the dark blanket of grey above them. Yllandris stood beside the King, shivering. It was late afternoon, but it might have been the middle of the night for all the visibility the snowstorm provided.

‘We’re under attack,’ shouted a nearby warrior. He had a longbow pulled back and an arrow ready to loose at any moment. ‘It struck from nowhere. Pulled Varamus into the sky and tore him clean in half.’

‘It took my girl,’ a woman cried. She was on her knees in the deep snow, her head in her hands. A score of men emerged from the blizzard, all with arrows nocked and ready. The biggest of them approached; she recognized Yorn. His hands were covered in blood.

‘We’ve got a score dead already. The demon’s snatching up folk and scattering parts of ’em all over town. We can’t get a clear shot on the thing.’ He shook his head and spat. ‘It’s huge. Wings like a bat, with talons that can rend a man in half.’

‘Gather a hundred men,’ Magnar ordered. ‘Split them into groups, five men each. Have them patrol every part of town until the fiend is spotted. Yllandris, gather the rest of your circle. I want this demon blasted out of the sky.’

She did as she was commanded, hurrying off towards the small hill overlooking the west side of Heartstone. As it happened, Shranree and two other sorceresses were already on their way to the Great Lodge. They almost ran into her moving in the opposite direction.

‘Sister, what is happening here?’ asked Shranree, in between gasps for breath. She frowned suddenly. ‘You appear rather inadequately garbed for this inclement weather, I must say.’

Yllandris sighed. She had hoped the woman’s near-death experience at Mehmon’s trial might have sapped some of her hubris, but the leader of the Heartstone circle was already returning to her overbearing self. ‘We are under assault,’ she replied. ‘A winged demon haunts the skies above us. I believe it was the same monster that attacked the Brethren some weeks past.’ The same monster that was watching us at Frosthold. She decided to say nothing of that.

Shranree clapped her hands together. ‘Dastardly fiend! Does it seek to take advantage of the Shaman’s absence? Come, sisters. We will hunt down this demon and make it sorry it ever left the Spine.’

There was a shout from somewhere to the north. The four sorceresses hurried towards the sound. Along the way they passed the remains of a Highlander, his belly opened to reveal steaming entrails. Yllandris wiped snow from her eyes, squinting to catch sight of the men ahead of her.

Suddenly a body crashed down into the snow nearby. They rushed over, but the man was dead before he hit the ground. A massive wound almost split his torso in half.

‘It is above us,’ Shranree whispered. A band of men appeared, Yorn leading them. Thurva was with the group. She saw her sisters and hurried over to join them.

‘The thing is so fast,’ she said breathlessly. ‘My magic could barely touch it. The men’s arrows have little impact. If only the Brethren were here. Or the Shaman.’

‘They are not,’ said Shranree. ‘And so we must deal with it ourselves.’

The air rustled ominously. There was a dark streak in the sky far above and then the fiend was there among them, its taloned foot closing around the unfortunate warrior next to Yorn. The man screamed and spewed blood as those terrible claws sliced into his body.

Yllandris gasped, horrified at the sheer size of the demon. It must be twenty feet tall. Its wings were wider still. The head was part human and part reptilian. Three red eyes filled with malevolence stared out above a mouthful of pointed teeth resembling ivory daggers. A snaking tail whipped the ground with enough force to pulverize flesh and bone.

The warriors released their arrows. Most bounced off the thing’s black hide. A couple lodged in its scales to no discernible effect. The warriors threw their useless bows to the ground and drew their swords, closing to surround the creature, but with a single mighty beat of its gigantic wings it rose above them and they were left to stare up at it helplessly.

Shranree threw her arms into the air. ‘Sisters, link with me,’ she shrieked.

Yllandris closed her eyes and did as the senior sister commanded, feeling her magic drain into the older woman. Shranree gasped as the power filled her. Flame danced around her hands and then lanced towards the winged horror. The demon hissed as the fire wreathed its midnight form. With another beat of its great wings it took to the skies, dropping the lifeless corpse of the Highlander like a broken doll.

The fiend disappeared from sight almost immediately, swallowed up by the relentless blizzard, but Shranree was not done. Shrieking in ecstasy, she sent the dancing flame up and after the apparition. A couple of seconds passed and then, like a rope, the flaming lasso tightened.

There was an enraged hiss from high above them. With a tugging motion, Shranree yanked downwards and the black colossus was brought crashing to the earth, the chain of fire wrapped tight around its legs. It smashed into a tavern in an explosion of flaming debris. A loud cheer went up and suddenly Heartstone’s warriors were converging on the fallen demon, swords and axes bristling.

The fire wreathing Shranree’s hands flickered and disappeared. She sagged in exhaustion. Yllandris, too, felt drained to the point of collapse. The magic they had expended in bringing down the fiend had sapped the last reserves of her power. It was all she could do to turn and stare at the wreckage through the waning snowstorm.

The burning ruins of the tavern shifted suddenly. Somehow the fiend was still alive. It rose, staggered a few steps, and then beat its ruined wings. Dust and rubble exploded from its blistered skin. In a lurching run, it turned and fled north towards the main gates. Arrows rained down around it, but even with its grievous injuries the demon easily outpaced the pursuing warriors. Yllandris watched on, horrified. What manner of creature can survive such punishment?

The sound of horses caught her attention and she turned to see Magnar seated on his mighty stallion, the Six mounted behind him. The King raised his sword in the air. ‘I will hunt the demon down! Any man who wishes to join me is welcome. I want that bastard’s head above my hearth.’

There was a loud cheer as the King and his elite guards passed through the town towards the gates. Men went to fetch their horses or banded together to set off after the royal war party. Within half an hour, almost every warrior in Heartstone had departed to join the hunt. Those that remained behind began the task of clearing the streets of the dead and putting out the fires that had erupted in the wake of the demon’s plummet from the sky.

Yllandris counted over forty dead. Men, women and children – the fiend had not discriminated in its brief tour of destruction. One demon did all this, she thought. The spirits help us if more of those creatures emerge from the Devil’s Spine.

Shranree strode up to her as she was dragging the corpse of a teenage boy from the rubble of the tavern. The older sorceress was tired and covered in sweat but her eyes were bright. Revelling in your triumph, no doubt. Will you shed a tear for this family inadvertently killed by your hand, Shranree? I doubt it.

‘You did well, sister,’ said the rotund woman with a smile. ‘Perhaps you will indeed make a worthy sorceress one day.’

‘I can only hope.’

Shranree looked around at the blackened corpses and tutted. ‘If they had been out there helping during the attack, they would have avoided this unfortunate end. I believe there is a lesson to be learned here.’

Yllandris gritted her teeth. ‘I suppose so.’

‘This latest incident demonstrates the need for more sorceresses in the city.’

That was something Yllandris could agree with. ‘Yes, sister.’

‘Perhaps when the King returns you might speak with him? I suspect he would be most receptive to your counsel. After all, you share much, do you not?’ The woman’s expression was unreadable.

‘I do not understand.’

Shranree smiled sweetly. ‘Why, a young man’s desires are vast and often indiscriminate. And of course, one should always strive to please her king in every way possible.’

‘As… as you say, sister.’

‘Still,’ Shranree continued. ‘One must also respect tradition. A sorceress may not marry. It weakens the magic, you know.’ She went silent for a time. When she spoke again, her eyes were hard. ‘Put aside any girlish fantasies you may be harbouring about our handsome young king. You are mine until I deem you worthy, and quite frankly that may very well be never.’ She sighed suddenly. ‘Really, Yllandris. Do you seriously think Magnar would consider marrying you?’

Go jump off a cliff, you spiteful old hag. ‘He enjoys spending time with me. I listen to him. I provide him the comfort he needs.’

Shranree shook her head and sighed in exasperation. ‘So would a whore.’ She turned and waddled off, casting a distasteful glance at the bodies of the family that had run the tavern.

Yllandris watched her leave. When Magnar came back she would apologize for her earlier remarks. He would forgive her, she knew. He cherished her honesty. He had his faults, but Magnar was young, handsome, and above all he was the King. And for her that meant one thing.

I will be Queen.