The Fleet of Sinsai (The Valerious Chronicles: Book Three)

By Julian Saheed

The Shrine is destroyed. Yet, Christill’s quest is not at an end. He must now find a way back to Feldom, and quickly. Kahnustus is hunting and soon he will find the last of the guardian gods. For even they may not be powerful enough to protect Kovi.

Across the sea, Thibalt fights for the allegiance of the Miirvkin, with the hope of a dying nation on his shoulders. Here, in the shadows of his childhood, he will endure his greatest test as he battles his past to protect his future.

Back home, the Fleet of Sinsai sweeps down the coast and the shattered remnants of Feldom gather for one final stand. They are surrounded, outnumbered and fragile. But by the courage of a few, they will stand together and face extinction united.

The final chapter in Thibalt and Christill’s journey will see them meet their destiny and, through their sacrifice, forever change the fate of a world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Julian Saheed
• Release date: Jun 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310218439

Julian Saheed

Stalking the medieval corridors and halls of the castles in Germany and the Czech republic, visions of brave knights and lord and ladies feasting in their halls cemented themselves in my mind. There was only one choice left to me, to write my own Fantasy stories. A passion fueled by the books that I read growing up from authors such as David Eddings, Raymond E Feist, Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman.

Book preview

NIGHTMARES

Only the delusional would call Andron beautiful. Nevertheless, Estallion saw some beauty ... But most would not hesitate to call him delusional. The city was wind-beaten, coated in grime, thrown together, building against building, as a city which had grown too fast for its craftsmen to keep up. Sitting on a crumbled wall, feet dangled over the edge, his hand scratched behind the ear of an alley cat perched beside him. It was enjoying the attention.

Good view? came the gruff voice he'd been expecting.

Estallion smiled. "It is by no means a good view. It can only be described as horrific … yet, even the terrible can be captivating. I find I cannot look away."

Ludvic came up and placed his arms on the wall. The grubby cat briefly opened one eye to judge him and then returned its full attention to Estallion’s fingers. It’s finally happened, said Ludvic, shaking his head. Everyone’s grown so sick of your mindless yapping that you’ve no choice but to befriend the animals.

Makes for good company, replied Estallion. And a lot less complaining.

I was expecting your Scorpions to be here. I can’t wait all day.

The thought of the Scorpions being his unsettled Estallion. Curse Thibalt. Running off to Miirvk and leaving me here to clean up the mess. He turned to the barrel-chested Honour Guard and said, They shouldn’t be long. I would not seek to keep someone as important as you from his tasks.

Ludvic grunted his displeasure. You’ve got a minute.

Patience, Ludvic. It is no easy task.

They waited, eyes drawn to the harbour from their high vantage point. The Dargonian fleet had arrived two weeks ago, entering the harbour like a well driven spear. The blockade by the Andronian navy had held out for a week before crumbling before the sheer mass of black sails. The surviving ships fled south under Ludvic’s order. Better to live and fight another day than fight and risk handing over more ships to the enemy.

Do you think Thibalt will succeed? asked Estallion.

Ludvic hesitated. I don’t know lad. He moved to pat the cat, but it slipped away from his advance. That is out of our hands. But we can pray.

I suspect there are quite a few people praying at the moment, said Estallion. Skiye might not hear our pleas.

The shouting from the harbour grew louder, carried over to them by the coastal wind. The largest of the Dargonian warships were lined up in the water; onboard catapults hurling ceramic containers into the city. At the docks, smaller ships were unloading more troops. The Andronian army had pulled back a mile into the city and was holding their line. Out of the range of the enemy’s bombardment. Out of the range of what the soldiers had named the Orange Rot.

Ah, here they come, said Estallion with a beaming smile, pointing to a group of figures running towards them. Did you ever doubt me?

All the time, Estallion, replied Ludvic. All the time.

Borrin was at the head of Steelfist’s Scorpions. He slid to a stop and nodded to his new captain and the Maloreichar. We managed to get some.

Took us bloody ages to find somethin’ to carry it, added Skiddle.

Estallion looked down at a small pot in the former thief’s hands. It had been the only thing they’d found which didn’t dissolve. How did you get it into the pot? I thought it eats away at anything it touches.

It does, replied Borrin. But it takes a while to start eating through hard steel.

Wasted a good dagger just to scoop a bit, said Skiddle, shaking his head.

Ludvic walked over and motioned for the pot to be opened. Skiddle cautiously removed the lid. Inside was a thick blob of the substance covering the western fringe of the city. A vile concoction of the Dargonians which ate away at almost everything it came into contact with. When the first containers had struck the city, they had expected oil, not a thick sludgy substance that stuck to everything it touched. Those unlucky enough to be caught in its path suffered terribly. The Orange Rot melted everything. Bricks and stone slowly. Skin and bone not so slowly.

Don’t let it come into contact with a flame, Ludvic instructed.

It burns? asked Estallion.

Like you wouldn’t believe. Water, sand, blankets, nothing worked. All we could do was wait for it to finish burning. Once all the Rot burned away the flames stopped.

Estallion dropped down from the wall to the displeasure of the alley cat. If that’s the case why haven’t the Dargonians started setting fire to the gallons of Rot they’ve covered the city in?

Ludvic turned from Skiddle and said, You tell me. It’s probably matter of time. I don’t know what their plan is but they’ve got one, believe me. Luschia may be a monster, but he is a cunning one.

Estallion’s hand waved through the air dramatically. Everyone mentions that name with such fear. Show me this Luschia and I will take care of him. I will outmatch him with my wit and charm.

If the tales are true, pray you never meet him, replied Ludvic.

The severity of his tone left them in silence.

Well, we have your sample. Where do you need us next? asked Estallion. The front line?

No, my insane young friend. You are going to do something special for me, Ludvic said with a slight grin.

Estallion frowned. This sounds terribly ominous. And I don’t like that look.

I’ve had every disciple in the city study this substance. Damned fools can’t give me a straight answer. It’s non-magical, that’s all they can agree on. Ludvic paused. There is someone who will know what it is. And I need that knowledge. Our ability to stop Luschia’s fleet may hinge on this.

The Scorpions listened intently, nervously. Their missions never came without great risk.

I want you to go down to Pravaris, Ludvic explained.

Surprised, Estallion responded with, Now is hardly the time for sightseeing.

Hah, sightseeing? replied Skiddle. That island’s full of savages. Demons tha’ sharpen their teeth and feast on the flesh of men.

Don’t be absurd, said Estallion. That’s a myth.

They may not be savages in the way your short friend here thinks, said Ludvic. Skiddle scowled at the Honour Guard. But there are people on Pravaris Island. And calling them backwards wouldn’t be too much of a stretch.

Estallion scratched his chin in contemplation. And….

And, echoed Ludvic. Their leader is someone who is likely to be able to tell us what this is and more importantly how to get rid of it.

A few streets away a chorus of screams signalled another exploding canister of the Orange Rot. They all turned their heads, cringing at the thought of being caught under a shower of the acidic liquid.

Who is this man? asked Estallion.

I wouldn’t call her a man to her face if I were you, replied Ludvic. "Not even your endless charm could melt the heart of that hag."

Sounds charming, muttered Borrin.

Ludvic flicked a frown in the direction of Miera’s younger brother. Borrin tightened his lips. We’ve got a few weeks before Zephra’s army hits our eastern wall. Leave the city. Go south, follow the refugees and catch a ship from Fenhelm or Seasrest. When you reach Pravaris ask to be taken to Aesadis.

I know you well enough, said Estallion. What aren’t you telling me?

Just be careful, replied Ludvic. Aesadis is a clever woman. Clever and cutthroat. You don’t survive as long as she has on Pravaris without a great deal of ferocity.

Well then, I see no need to wait around, said Estallion. He turned to the Scorpions. Ready gentlemen? And lady, he added quickly to Kess, whose sour look of displeasure was aimed right at him.

We need to know how to stop this, Estallion, reiterated Ludvic.

Yes, yes. When have we ever let you down?

Never. But you personally… all the time, replied Ludvic.

Estallion’s brow drew down. He moved back over to the wall and picked up the alley cat. Let’s go, he said to his Scorpions.

As they walked away from Ludvic, the Honour Guard called out. What are you doing with that cat?

Estallion swung around, patting the cat gingerly across the back. Why taking it with me, whatever else would I be doing? You can’t expect me to leave it here with you. Have you looked out at the harbour recently? It’s very dangerous here.

Ludvic’s reply was a simple shake of his head.

A golden jackal howling against a field of red. His vision swam with the image, emblazoned on the black sails of a hundred ships lining the harbour. The upper rim of the sun slid over the edge of the horizon, shining over the water which appeared silver in the fading light. Silver and cold, mused Ludvic.

He picked his way down the street carefully, making sure not to accidentally step into a pile of the Rot. About him buildings were sprayed with the corrosive substance, slowly decaying under its grip. This was the fringe of the Dargonian bombardment. Their catapults could not launch their deadly canisters any further. Here the Orange Rot was scarce.

His steps led him to where the Rot was thickest, where stone and mortar were slowly melting away. From here to the harbour, a few hundred feet away, it looked as though a sickening orange disease had enveloped the city. The troops under his command waited here, at the border of the Rot. It was too risky to tread in the areas that were covered.

Ludvic squinted to see the docks. The black armour of the Dargonian soldiers merged into one big undulating mass. They too were avoiding the Rot, leaving the two clashing armies within sight of each other, but unable to engage due to the dangerous ground between them.

This makes no bloody sense. They fought like mad to take the harbour and now sit by and wait whilst the city is eaten by this new weapon. There’ll be nothing left to claim if they cover the entire city.

At this rate it would take months for the Orange Rot to destroy Andron, and Ludvic wondered how much patience Luschia’s army had, not to mention supplies. The fleet of Sinsai was made up of warships and troop carriers. He hadn’t seen a single cargo ship amongst the hulking vessels. Siege weapons and soldiers was all that Zephra’s general had thought to bring.

At the edge of the docks, ahead of the waiting Dargonians were new weapons. Creations of the Dargonian war machine; iron-clad wagons carrying thick containers with two men operating a massive pump at the front. Six other soldiers stood on the ground before the wagons, holding the fat hoses connected to the pumps. At the head of each hose a horrific demon head, plated in brass, was sculpted to appear as frightening as possible. The wagons had rolled off the ships and moved straight to the head of the Dargonian army. Ludvic and his troops had had no idea what to expect. Once the demon heads appeared and began to spew forth the Orange Rot, chaos had erupted in Andron.

Ludvic had no idea how they managed to transport this hellish substance; it devoured everything it came into contact with. The Rot surged out of the mouths of the demons in a rush, biting, burning, and scalding everything in its path. Within an hour the edge of the city was drenched in Rot. Ludvic and the defending soldiers were forced to retreat or find themselves in range of the terrible spewing demon wagons.

Ludvic looked about him. His soldiers had been waiting too long. Courage had its limits, and a sure way to sap courage was to make them wait. Waiting only bred discontent and doubt. Keep a soldier busy fighting and he will be too preoccupied to have second thoughts.

The crash of containers continued around them. How much of this could they possibly have? Surely they will not waste their entire stock taking Andron. The city was a key point on the Feldonian map, but hardly worth utilising all of their resources to claim. It frightened Ludvic to think that this could be but a morsel of the Rot at Luschia’s disposal.

Look, over there, came a loud call.

Ludvic turned his attention to where the soldier was pointing.

From the midst of the larger Dargonian warships came a smaller vessel, long and narrow, fast on the water. Dozens of oars poked from either side, heaving back and forth, carrying the ship forward. Its single sail was unfurled revealing a variation of the heraldry of Sinsai; the golden jackal up on its hind legs, snapping at a standing golden bear.

What new madness is this? Ludvic’s eyes lingered on the ship's bow where a huge wooden ballista was mounted. An arrow, longer than a man, sat ready to be launched into the city. It was then that he noticed the absence of the canisters crashing throughout the city. The catapults had ceased their fire. With a quick glance he saw that the wagons carrying the Rot pumps had also stopped and were being pulled back to the docks.

Turning to the closest sergeant, Ludvic yelled, Pull everyone back. Now!

The soldiers sprang into action, picking up their gear and falling back. The order spread through the city, drawing the front line of the defence back well beyond the parts of Andron covered in the Orange Rot. Ludvic followed, but swung about at the fringe. The new ship had halted and now waited in between two of the shorter piers jutting from the dockside.

A large figure came up to the bow of the ship, standing with one iron clad boot raised up onto the front railing. Even from this distance there was no mistaking Zephra’s greatest general. Luschia was a towering figure of sheer muscle, draped in hard leather and metal, with a long black cape thrown across his broad shoulders. One hand rested on the ballista, the other held an enormous sword, much too large for a normal man. But Luschia was far from normal. His face was hidden behind a frightening helmet, plated in gold, in the shape of a snarling bear. Everything about him was intimidating, down to the subtle shift of his helmet as he appraised the result of his assault.

The very worst of what Dargon has to offer, thought Ludvic. They throw stones, they throw oil. They bring sharp steel and heavy hammer to our walls. All of this we can suffer. All of this we can repel. But only the gods can help us fight whatever foul beast lies under that mask.

The torch that appeared beside Luschia was expected. Ludvic sighed. Given the flammability of the Rot, it was only a matter of time before they would seek to burn Andron to the ground. The Dargonian general took the torch and lifted it high into the air. A chorus of cheers from the army on the docks rumbled over to them.

And now we watch. Ludvic drew further back into the city. By the time he reached the new defensive line his men had formed, the arrow on the ballista had been lit. The enemy’s cheering grew louder and Luschia moved to the firing mechanism. Raising his sword high into the air, Luschia released the arrow.

Ludvic heard nothing, saw nothing, other than the long arc of the burning arrow soaring into the city. His breathing stopped in anticipation. Then he flew backwards to the hard ground.

A wave of unbearable heat washed over him, howling and roaring. Around him Feldonians cried out as they were tossed back by the powerful wind. Ludvic recovered and looked up to see the inferno that had been sparked. The Orange Rot had ignited with such speed that within a few breaths a quarter of the city was alight. Poisonous grey smoke floated up into the air as the Rot was consumed by flame. It burned so fast, so hot, that the flames turned white. Buildings crumbled in on themselves, stone melted down to ash under the overheated acid. Ludvic looked on with terrible awe at the sheer destructive beauty of this weapon.

The defenders were forced to pull further back to avoid the heat coming from the firestorm. Ludvic ordered sand and water to be brought forth to contain any flames that spread away from the Rot. What good it would do was yet to be seen.

He could not see for the fire around him. What chance did they have of containing a blaze this large?

Whilst his men worked to stop the flames from spreading, Ludvic climbed to the top of an abandoned wagon to gain a better view of the docks. He saw Luschia’s golden helmet staring straight at the burning city. Is he smiling under that mask? Evil bastard.

He then saw that the larger warships at the back of the fleet had parted, leaving an opening for another ship to enter the harbour. Struggling to see over the haze, he just made out a hulking barge, slowly drifting in past the warships. It was huge. Large enough to carry a few hundred men. The hull was painted green, covered in barnacles and weathered as though a hundred years old.

General Luschia moved from his command ship onto the docks and turned his attention to the barge. Ludvic watched silently, eyes narrow and troubled. The Dargonians were cheering once again.

With a creak that carried over the noise of the fire, two great doors opened up on the top of the barge.

A gigantic shadow erupted from the opening, spinning in the air and unfolding two long leathery wings as wide as a house. The Feldonians screamed in terror. Ludvic almost toppled from the wagon. The wings pulsed in great big beats and lifted the shadow higher and higher until it fully unfurled itself. What was revealed was a monster of nightmares. A great, fat bodied beast with four squat legs and a head as large as a sailing skiff. Its skin was blackened and twisted, seemingly moulded together with fire in the darkest corner of the world. Its thick, square-jawed head opened and snapped shut as it glided down and over the Dargonian fleet.

A dragon! called out one of the defenders.

Dragons are a myth! yelled Ludvic. Do not be fooled. This is some foul creation of Zephra’s. And we will put an end to it as we will anything else the Tyrant King throws at us.

His words did little to reassure the soldiers who were watching the flying monster circle over the water. Its black eyes were scanning the city with hunger in their gaze. The wings spread wide and it came about, directing its flight towards their position. Men and women scrambled over each other in an attempt to escape.

Ludvic called out for them to hold their ground. There was no point. He looked up to the beast, this flying behemoth, his own hand trembling. Its shadow darkened the burning city below it as it soared towards him. Skiye give me strength, he prayed.

CHAPTER ONE

LOST AND FOUND

Christill rubbed his eyes again. The glare was even harsher than when they arrived. Much more of this and I may never see again.

Elephtheria sat down next to him, wincing as her injuries protested against her every move. It’s so bright. To look up for even a second is blinding.

She was right. Wherever they were, they could not escape the sun. It was an enormous bright stain up above, so stark, so white. Perhaps it is the sun which has turned this land so dull and lifeless, suggested Christill.

No, replied Elephtheria. There is something else at play here. Everything is as one would expect … but not.

As though we are walking with a veil that covers our true sight, added Christill. He rested his back against a smooth boulder. Fire burned under his skin from the fight in Zephra’s shrine room. They had cheated fate by surviving the destruction of the shrine itself and Zephra’s brutal attacks. But in their escape they had suffered their greatest loss.

They had placed Dievu’s body in a small clearing and covered him with as many rocks as they could find. Christill would have liked to have found a better place, but they had no idea where they were. They were certainly no longer in Kovi.

The spectres they had seen wandering up and down the stream were enough to show that they had left Fellarrnur. This was a different plane. As Elephtheria had said, the world around them mirrored Kovi, yet was different enough to unease them. The soil, the rocks, the wood of the trees, everything was somehow different. At times they stopped to stare at a plant, familiar to them but in a bright, unusual hue. Even the sky was seemingly changing colour every time they looked up. They did not know what to make of it, but the presence of the translucent spectres suggested something neither of them wished to believe.

What do we do? asked Christill, keeping his body still to rest his damaged muscles.

Elephtheria’s head dropped. He felt her sorrow. Burying Dievu had reminded them that he wasn’t coming back. Now they were lost in every sense. Christill had fulfilled his quest. The shrine anchoring the World Eater, Kahnustus, to Kovi was destroyed. Skiye and Gushkall, the remaining guardian gods, would at least have a chance to banish Kahnustus back to the Teefarrnur, the realm of the gods. But they were stuck here in this haunting place, alone and unsure.

Should we continue to search for Friedrich? Elephtheria asked.

No, replied Christill in a saddened tone. Unless he was transported elsewhere I do not think that he followed us into the portal. I suspect he remained in the dungeon, holding onto that dark altar.

Elephtheria nodded, accepting his reasoning. Then we must move to find a way back to Kovi. I have tried to contact Skiye. I cannot feel her presence anywhere.

No, there is a frightening absence of magic here. Nyrune’s powers should allow me to feel the living force in the plants around us. But it is gone. In the very same way I cannot feel your magic.

That is what concerns me the most, said Elephtheria. If we cannot sense each other using our powers, then we do not know if anyone else is near. We were not the only ones to go through the portal, Christill.

This was the last thing he wanted to think about. If Zephra was here with them they had no chance to make it back alive. Let’s focus on what’s within our control. I cannot see more than a hundred feet through this thicket. The first thing we need to do is find some high ground. Maybe then we will be able spot a settlement or something to help us figure out our next step.

A settlement! snapped Elephtheria unexpectedly. We are not on Fellarrnur anymore. Stop doubting it. The ghosts, the blighted landscape, of all that I have read, there is only one place to match this. Oundterrnur.

Christill turned away from her. The Realm of the Damned. If that is true, then is this our fate? To wander with the lost souls for all time. He recalled the mention of Oundterrnur from his time in the Academy of Nyrune. The knowledge of the other planes was something hidden from the masses, kept secret by the Council of Elders and the highest order of Skiye’s disciples. What other explanation could there be?

Elephtheria’s hand gently touched his leg. Forgive me. I did not mean to-

Stop, interrupted Christill. He faced her and saw her despair. Long lines ran down her cheeks where her tears had carved a path through the dirt and sweat. Her pain from the hurt Zephra had caused showed in her anguished eyes. We did what we set out to do. We knew it came with great risk, but that doesn’t mean it’s any easier to cope with the loss. For now, we can take comfort in the knowledge that we have each other. Together we will find a way back home.

Forcing a smile, she placed her back against the boulder and closed her eyes. Within a few breaths she was asleep.

Christill watched her silently, contemplating their next move. Dievu had been there to guide him since leaving Andron. Before that, Thibalt had always been there to protect him. Now, he truly needed to fend for himself.

A cracking branch caught his attention and he shifted forward off the boulder. His eyes darted along the bushes, scanning a hundred shadows lurking within the trees. Was it a bird? Does this place even have birds? What if some monster comes crashing out of the shadows? Christill summoned a small globe of his magic. A fine mist of swirling green and blue magic appeared in his hand, awaiting his command. The magic then flickered and part of the mist faded away. He looked on in shock. It happened again and more of his magic faded away. Christill threw it at a tree where it exploded into a small patch of flames. The fire scorched the bark black, but quickly faded away.

His control over the magic had felt incomplete. It was as though he had been fighting a force slowly pulling the magic away from him. He panicked.

Calm yourself. He focused on his breathing. There were too many things to worry about. He waited. There was nothing out there. Within a minute he had drifted off to sleep beside Elephtheria.

* * *

The crunch of feet on dirt woke them. Instinctively they both jumped up. It was dark. They must have slept through the entire day. Before them, standing in between two large tree trunks was one of the spectres, one of the lost souls. Their movement had caused him to stop. His skin and clothing was milky white, semi-transparent and shifting in the air around him. In his former life he had been an old man with a long silvery beard hanging from his drawn face.

Can it see us? asked Elephtheria.

Christill did not know. The spectre’s eyes were nothing but pale orbs. There was no telling if he was looking directly at them. Slowly step back. No rash movements.

Elephtheria nodded and took a step to the side.

The spectre let out a moan that lingered in the crisp night air. He then stepped towards them.

Christill kept his eyes ahead but stepped away, pushing Elephtheria behind him. The first of the spectres they had seen had paid them no attention. It had walked by them as though oblivious to their presence and then drifted through the wilderness to join a group of other souls following a stream downhill. This one was different. He was slowly moving closer, hands raising to reach out to them.

Stay back, said Christill. Leave us be.

If he recognised the words they had no effect. The spectre stepped closer. Christill’s head quickly darted around. The forest was thick around them and almost impossible to see through in the night.

Christill!

He swung about to see that the spectre had increased its pace. It was but a few feet away. Christill summoned his powers and sent a sizzling bolt of magic at it. The magic passed right through its chest and disappeared into the wilderness behind them.

Christill’s eyes widened. Run! He pushed Elephtheria forward and they both stumbled over the rocks and roots. Elephtheria gasped and cried out, the pain of running slowing her down. Christill cursed and moved to help her, risking a look behind. There was nothing but the dark trees.

Elephtheria’s scream startled him. She fell backwards dragging him down with her. His head struck a protruding root and his vision swam. It took a moment for him to regain his senses. When he did he saw another spectre hovering above them. It was a woman, fat as she was tall and wearing a nightgown. Her milky eyes rolled in their sockets as she reached down to grab Elephtheria.

Christill pushed himself up but was too late.

Elephtheria screamed.

He had never heard such a bloodcurdling scream before. The woman grabbed Elephtheria’s shoulders and pulled her up. Christill dived at the spectre and fell in a heap on top of her. The next moment he screamed out for mercy.

Where his skin touched the translucent spectre he felt a nightmarish sensation of pain mixed with terror. The woman’s touch was drawing away his strength. In agony, Christill managed to push himself off. He rolled on the floor, clutching the dirt, writhing and flailing. He felt as though he had lost a piece of himself. He could not believe that there was a pain worse than that inflicted in the battle with Zephra.

The woman rose from the ground, her expression unshifting, milky eyes moving from Christill to Elephtheria. Then a moan caught her attention. The elderly spectre had caught up to them. The two lost souls stopped and stared at each other. Elephtheria crawled over the rocks and leaves, coming to Christill’s side.

He opened his eyes to see her, cringing all the while. What’s happening?

I don’t know, she answered desperately. We can’t stop.

He forced himself up and found himself retching from the effort. He had never felt so frail in his life. He watched Elephtheria stand and summon the magic of Skiye. A wave of force spread outwards from them, sending leaves, rocks and dust flying away in a circle. Trees shook and branches cracked under the powerful wind. The spectres remained standing, unaffected by the magic. Elephtheria yelled out her frustration; a mixture of helplessness, pain and anger.

By the time Christill had managed to rise to his feet, the souls had reached them again. He dodged away from the slow advance of the woman and Elephtheria grabbed his arm to pull him away. They forced their bodies to carry them further, darting around boulders, up and down hills and over and under trees. Christill was forced to stop and retch several times, but kept his feet moving.

They both plunged straight into a stream which crossed the forest. The knee deep water was clear so Elephtheria scooped up a handful and drank it. Christill didn’t care if it was clean, he needed water. He cupped his hands and drank with a long gulp. His stomach lurched but he managed to keep it down.

Their very touch, gasped Christill. It was like death had grabbed a hold of me.

Such agony, said Elephtheria, trying to catch her breath. When she touched me ... I felt such profound sorrow ... such great pain. She paused. I thought my insides were being forced out of my skin.

Our magic did nothing. They didn’t even flinch.

Elephtheria raised her hand to her face. We cannot let that happen again.

From behind them the low moan of the spectres twisted amongst the trees. They both jumped up and continued their run. The anguish of running was nothing compared to another touch from the lost souls.

Hours later, Elephtheria dropped to the floor. I can’t, she puffed. Her eyes shut as she spread out on the ground.

Christill turned from ahead and slowly walked back. He could not push her any further. He lowered himself and poured some of his magic into her body. Yet again the magic came out unwillingly and wavered in his hands. Some of the colour returned to her gaunt face and she raised a hand to hold his.

Thank you, she whispered.

Christill smiled. Sleep. I will keep watch.

Elephtheria did not have the strength to argue. She closed her eyes and dozed off almost instantly. Christill craned his neck to see through the canopy to the stars above. They did not twinkle, nor did the moon shine with radiance. The night sky was dull, giving off an almost-grey light. It made it all the darker here in this wilderness.

They had stopped just by a sharp cutting of rock which rose a few feet over his head. Around them the trees were clumped tightly. They should be relatively safe assuming another spectre didn’t stumble across them.

His multiple injuries had now merged into one pulsing, throbbing ache. Despite this, he stood up. He could not risk falling asleep again. There was no wind here, only an uncomfortable silence, with the occasional creak of branches and rustle of falling leaves. Oundterrnur. Can it really be? He tried to recall the lessons on the planes from the Academy of Nyrune. Yhu had once told him that Oundterrnur acted as a channel between Fellarrnur, the realm of mortals, and the Third Plane, the realm inhabited by the guardian gods. Once a person passed from life in Kovi their energy, or soul as some would call it, did not return directly to the guardian gods as was thought by most. It travelled to Oundterrnur where the gods would retrieve it. However, to Christill’s amazement, he had learnt that not all souls were taken back to the gods to be reborn again in Fellarrnur. Those deemed by the gods to be unworthy were left in Oundterrnur, forced to wander until the end of all time.

Are we the first living mortals to step foot here? Does Skiye know? Is she aware of our plight? If there is a way for the gods to collect these souls, then there must be a way for us to leave. Christill then realised that they had not yet seen a wandering Dargonian spectre. Until now they had come across Feldonians, Karmanians and the occasional Miirvkin, some from ages past. None of the ghostly figures had seemed to come from the East. Perhaps Gushkall sees worth in all souls. It made sense, Gushkall was a god who revelled in disorder. It was unlikely for him to condemn any of his people for their actions on Kovi.

He rubbed his temples. He was thinking too much. The inside of his skull pulsed and pinched behind his eyes. He stumbled over to Elephtheria and watched her sleep, resting his shoulder against a rough tree trunk. Despite this disaster, despite the hopelessness of their situation, he found comfort in having her near.

Christill knew that her feelings towards him had grown beyond their initial friendship. And he would be a fool to doubt that his were any different. Perhaps in a different life, he mused. We could have found peace as Thibalt and Miera have.

He dwelled on this and other more pleasant thoughts as the blinding sun slowly rose. Elephtheria woke and scolded Christill for not waking her and taking rest himself. He waved her words away.

I was thinking last night, said Christill. If the guardian gods have a way of collecting our souls from this plane, then there must be a way for us to contact Skiye.

You could be right.

Come, let us first find something to eat, he suggested.

She nodded and stood up, wiping the dirt from her clothes. What chances do you think we have of stumbling across something edible here?

I don’t know. Even if we find something, we won’t know if it’s safe to eat. As you have mentioned, this is not Kovi.

The water we drank was fine. We can only try, she replied, forcing a smile.

And try we will, he said, happy to see her mood improving. Let’s head uphill and find a point where we can gain our bearings.

She took his hand and they set off uphill. They travelled slowly, cautiously, making sure not to attract notice. The bleached trees blocked their path in every direction, but gradually as they walked higher, the hillside grew less clumped.

By the time they saw a grassy hilltop rising in the distance, Elephtheria’s pace had slowed once again.

Look, over there, pointed Christill. We should be able to get a good view from up there.

Christill!

Her tone caused him to swing about. He rushed over, palm open to summon his magic if needed. She was standing with her eyes facing a black object in the dirt, her body rigid. It was a black strip of cloth. Christill bent down but did not touch it. It was a fine fabric, shimmering in the sunlight, and there was a familiar dark red stain soaked into the middle of it. Blood.

That looks exactly like the clothing Zephra was wearing, she said in a hushed voice. They both scanned the area nervously.

Christill held up his hand for silence and began to study to forest floor. His mind raced back to the time spent with his foster father Reinar on the fringe of the Miirvkin desert, scouting, learning to forage and read tracks. At least some good had come from his childhood. He had no trouble separating his own footsteps from the second set that was snaking its way up the hill.

It looks like he had the same idea, whispered Christill.

Do we continue?

He considered it. What other option do we have? We can turn around and look for another vantage point. But we could be walking for miles, and I don’t know about you but I cannot go much longer without something to eat, or some fresh water.

Is that not a better option than facing him again?

Christill sighed. We have the advantage. He does not know we are behind him. All we need to do is reach that rise and find a way out of here. If we spot him we can hide and wait for him to leave. He will not be able to sense us.

But what if he sees us? she asked anxiously.

Then you run and I will hold him off, replied Christill. My magic is not working properly here. I would expect it is the same for him. If it comes to a fight I might stand a chance.

You cannot expect me to leave you, I will not lose you as well!

And I will not risk losing you! he shot back, louder than he had intended. He cringed as soon as his mouth closed. If Zephra was anywhere near them he would definitely know that they were there. They waited nervously. No sound was forthcoming. Christill let out the breath he had been holding.

Forgive me, he said softly.

Elephtheria placed her palm on his cheek. We will figure this out together or not at all.

He nodded and looked back down at the bloodstained scrap of cloth. Together then.

* * *

Miera felt like she was going to bring up her morning meal. The taste of watery oats mixed with something from last night’s dinner was lapping at the back of her tongue. Thibalt’s father, Oswald, was frowning down at her, his bushy moustache bristling as his lips rubbed together.

Please don’t stare at me like that, she said. It isn’t helping.

You’re not sick are you? he asked, folding his arms across his thick chest in a fatherly manner.

Miera groaned. She needed another lecture about as much as a bucket needed holes. Her own mother was bad enough. Now her father-in-law had joined in on the endless coddling. I’m not sick. Just tired. That gruel that passed for food this morning must have been rotten.

Hmph, Oswald murmured. He didn’t seem convinced. You sure you still want to help?

Yes, yes, she insisted. If I have to watch over Kiel and Fritel for another day I will be forced to strangle them.

Oswald’s eyebrow rose but he accepted her choice. Come on then, let’s go find the Marshal.

She followed him out of their quarters; nothing more than a room in a storehouse that had been commandeered by the army for the housing of refugees. She took one last glance at her younger brothers, sleeping under a blanket beside their mother, then stepped out into the common room. Dozens of men and women were milling about, shoving past one another to find some food. Oswald cleared a path for them and they left the building into the cold morning air.

They had left the City of Skiye once the Dargonian army had been spotted to the north. Leaving the home that Estallion had bought for them was a difficult choice, but if the Maloreichar failed to hold the capital, staying would likely cost them their lives. The trek to Ardistown had taken weeks, moving with the long train of citizens fleeing south. Oswald had insisted on helping every needy person they’d passed on the way, which had slowed their journey even more. At least now they were far enough away from the fighting to be able to sleep soundly at night, even if the city was bursting with people fleeing the war.

Thankfully Ardistown’s streets were wide and spacious. They were able to move through the city without pushing and clawing their way past throngs of disgruntled people. The city was built over a lone hill that rose out from an expanse of grassland. The surrounding land was scattered with cattle and small settlements of families who farmed the grasslands by the order of the Duke of Ardistown, Donain Castaneda. From what Miera had seen, the people admired their Duke. It was a rarity, for the commoners usually found little reason to love their rulers. He was the King’s brother, charming, handsome and open with his citizens. Donain had convinced Miera of his worth by opening up the city’s food stores to all of the refugees from the capital. The Duke had even ordered the city’s merchants to open up their storerooms to house the arriving families.

This was where they were headed. South, down at the base of the hill, where the merchants kept their warehouses and the city’s granaries were under heavy guard. Oswald couldn’t bear sitting around and waiting so he had offered his services to the local Guard Marshal. Since then he’d spent most of his days helping to unload the wagons carrying supplies and rationing out grain to the poor and homeless.

As they walked Oswald talked to her of Thibalt and Christill’s time in Andron. She had heard this story before, but allowed him to continue. It comforted her to hear about Thibalt’s past. There had been no word from him since she left the capital. Miera had sent a letter to Andron, to let her husband know that she was fleeing south, but she had no way of knowing whether it had reached him. Due to the secrecy behind his missions she did not even know if he was still in Andron, or whether the Scorpions were still alive. Her tears had stopped coming some weeks ago. There was no more room for worry. Either he came back to her or he didn’t. Crying about it wasn’t going to change a thing.

The Guard Marshal was standing, arguing with a group of traders. His hands were flying in the air before him, voice rising with each word. Oswald held up his hand for them to stop and they waited whilst the group finished its argument. Eventually the traders walked off, spitting curses at the Marshal, who shook his head and turned back to a table covered in a foot of papers.

Oswald stepped up and greeted him.

Ah, Master Steelfist, nodded the Guard Marshal. Good of you to come again.

Only doing what I can.

The Guard Marshal pursed his lips. The lines around his eyes told of his exhaustion. Miera could only imagine the stress he was under with this many people in his once peaceful city. You any good with a hammer and nail? he asked.

Oswald shrugged. I can hit a nail, if that’s what you’re asking.

That will have to do. I’ve got most of my carpenters busy and I need shelves repaired in three of the warehouses we have taken. With the extra stores we are taking on, half of the timber is ready to fall from the walls.

Just point me in the right direction, said Oswald.

Two streets down, the large red brick building with the peaked roof. Head inside and find Alber. He will show you what to do.

Oswald inclined his head and set off to his task. Miera followed, keen for something to keep her mind busy. They found the building with the peaked roof and entered. She waited while Oswald went to find the man named Alber and found herself feeling queasy once again. The warehouse was full of sawdust, hanging in the air in a stagnant cloud. A few workers moved in between the crates which were piled high on top of one another. The bang of hammers and grind of saws sounded from every corner. It suddenly seemed stifling in here. Her stomach lurched and she quickly ran outside.

A few of those standing outside drew back in disgust as she erupted from the doorway to spew in the street. Waves of cold and hot ran over her. Her knees wobbled so she lowered herself down. The vile taste lingered in her mouth. What I would give for some water?

She heard the heavy footsteps behind her and saw Oswald’s lowered brow staring down at her. I think I best take you home.

Miera held up her hand. No, you stay, it’s just something I ate.

How many times have you felt sick in the last few weeks? Be honest now, he asked in a kind tone.

Miera didn’t want to answer. Reluctantly she said, A few.

Then I suspect it isn’t something you ate, said Oswald. He smiled and helped her up. Are you ready to become a mother?

Her mouth fell open. She hadn’t even considered the possibility. Her head spun and she bent over again.

Well then, said Oswald, blowing out a long breath.

* * *

The walls of the Citadel of Kings were thick enough to block out the sounds of the siege. Queen