Fear's Union (the Age of Ku, #1)

By James Hockley

Praise for Fear's Union:
“I don’t think folks picking this one up will meet with any disappointment” – G R Matthews; Fantasy Faction.
“A brilliant first effort from fresh, new talent” – James Cordona.
“I found myself turning page after page” – Elizabeth Johnson.
“I felt transported and immersed into the struggles of Ahan” – Dan Gillis.

Anejo has always battled against the natural order of things – she is nobility, but she plays at being a soldier. And her reckless streak often brings her notoriety, where all she actually wants is to hide away. Trouble follows where she treads, but will she be a force for good or a force for bad?

And Keles has the unenviable task of controlling Anejo. But he also has his own agenda, and he is having an illicit affair – with Anejo’s friend no less. That too is becoming a burden he can no longer bear. Will he be able to shed his problems and fulfil his potential?

Because in the meantime, enemies are circling and conflict gathers. There are dangers stalking the borders, and a darker menace looms large. But even allies are not dependable, and perhaps the greatest threat is from within. A lot will rest on Anejo’s narrow shoulders; including the continued liberation of her country.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Hockley
• Release date: Aug 28, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370359325

James Hockley

James Hockley has a normal job, a brilliant family, great friends, and he enjoys beer and grilled meat. He also spends almost all of his spare time locked in his own imagination, and the rest of his spare time trying to articulate that mental chaos into English. In 2016, James became a self-published author (hurrah!) of epic fantasy fiction. His first work, the first instalment of the Age of Ku trilogy called Fear’s Union, was available in eBook format from April 2016. And his second work and a prequel to Fear’s Union – titled Mandestroy – was made available from the end of July. But there is much more to come from the World of Ku, so keep in touch. James also blogs about his writing and publishing experiences on his website, as well as reviewing all his fantasy reads. James lives in Bristol, UK, with his wife and his young son.

Book preview

Thanks go to Miai 313 at 99Designs.com for the front cover.

Thanks to Graham Meade for the map font.

The Lands of Mandari Society

Prologue

—Cris—

Cris tried focussing on his surroundings, but it was tedious. There was nothing to look at. Quite literally. Just an endless panorama of uniformity. Parched earth, skeletal scrub, and not a lot else. Even the horizon was boring. Flat and blank. He exhaled, and did it noisily. It was intentional.

His riding partner turned to him and he smiled. The prospect of some conversation piqued his interest, but it was short-lived. The other man just turned away. He always did. Damn it. The silence stretched, like the plains about them.

Where are we?

It was a stupid question because he knew the answer, but that wasn’t the point. He wanted to talk, he wanted human interaction, and he wanted to get to know…

Was he stupid to think that this man would take him seriously? He had pleaded for the chance to come on this once in a lifetime opportunity, but he was rapidly regretting the decision. He had expected to learn so much from this mandahoi, but the man just ignored him. No, he didn’t just ignore him. The mandahoi looked at him like he was muck. And that wasn’t fair. He wasn't just muck.

Aleña.

That got his attention. The mandahoi's head swung smoothly round, and those hawk-like eyes cut right across him. He gulped. And then he furrowed his brow, grimacing. He could never scare this man, but he would at least stand his ground.

We are crossing the Wastes of Mikaeta.

And then the git turned away once more. End of conversation. He was on the verge of crying out in frustration, but the natural order of authority stopped him. Aleña was in charge, and he was therefore fortunate. This was an opportunity. That was just the way of it.

The mandahoi continued to ignore him, apparently unconcerned for his mood. Silence won over, and the two travellers trekked on in infuriating silence. In the absence of conversation, his mind wandered to some dark places.

Until his stomach clawed at his boredom. Mother Bright was much higher in the sky, which meant it was close to noon. Soon it would be time to find shelter from the day’s heat, but first they would eat. It would probably be the highlight of the day.

They started with a rock-hard cheese on claggy bread, and followed it with a stone-like biscuit. And that was all washed down with heavily watered wine. It was meagre, but it was still the highlight of the day. Why had he come? Ah yes.

Why did you ask for a companion on this adventure?

The mandahoi looked at him with those eyes once more; they really were hawk-like. They weren’t yellow, but something about them gave a suggestion of gold. And the pupil seemed stretched too. He had removed the polished hawk’s mask for the meal, and his face was visible, which was rare for a mandahoi. Even his features seemed avian. There was a sharp but compact nose, small pointed mouth, and even a downy beard. It was a hawkish face. Perhaps owlish.

He looked at the razor-sharp weapons at the man’s side and raised his eyebrows. Why would he permit such tawdry facial growth? He certainly had the tools to sort that out.

The mandahoi opened his mouth. That in itself was a rarity.

I have told you this.

Yes, yes, you need someone to independently verify that you’re not mad.

No-one believes me to be mad.

Maybe not, but that’s not the point. Why me? You have not said one voluntary word to me in more than a stretch of days. Damn it, I’ve even lost track of the days. Why invite someone along that you can’t even stand?

The mandahoi's head tipped and his face scrunched up in question. Now he definitely looked like an owl. Bloody Brother! This was infuriating.

There has been nothing to say.

But we’ve gone days with nothing to entertain us. Are you not bored? The man shook his head and stayed silent. No! This was the longest stretch of conversation they’d shared, so he was determined to keep it going. You’re really not bored?

Cris. I spend almost all of my life on these plains with nothing for company but the wind. I am always searching, and the quiet is good for searching. So no, I am not bored.

He had to keep it moving. Searching for what?

Anything and everything. I am a sensor. This is my job.

The conversation was petering, which was the last thing he wanted. But he had nowhere to go. He had at least been given some insight, which was rare. And actually, perhaps this man was behaving just as he always did. Perhaps the mandahoi had nothing against him after all, and he truly didn’t bother with conversation. That hadn’t registered before. He had been so desperate for rare insight into the mandahoi phenomenon that he actually had no preconception of what he would find. Then again, he would never have guessed at this. The man was weird.

Then something impossible happened. Aleña spoke voluntarily.

Why did you come?

Because I wanted to learn from you.

Aleña closed his eyes gently, and smiled. Actually smiled. It was such a subtle thing, but powerful. It made the man look small and timid. Weak even. But despite this, reputation alone suggested that the mandahoi could break him with a stare. That contradiction of personality and reputation was strangely disturbing.

I am not a teacher, and you are not a mandahoi.

That sounded quite final. So this was a waste of time?

The mandahoi shook his head. If I were to give you a lesson, I would say this: observe carefully. You look at much, but you don’t often see. Seeing is the first skill of a mandahoi.

His breathing shortened. He was being taught. But then it sank in, and he screwed up his face. What did he mean by that? He could see as well as anyone. But what—

The mandahoi’s hand went up and his head spun. He focussed on a blank stretch of horizon, and then he was on his feet.

We leave. Now. We are going to that copse. His hand pointed to a knot of gnarled trees in the middle distance. It was all so sudden. What was happening? Aleña was on his horse already, and he was still sat on the ground, legs crossed. There was nothing to disturb them, and his lips parted. This strange behaviour deserved a question. But instead he licked his lips. Aleña was the master here.

And once they were hidden in the scrub of the copse, he understood. There were horsemen coming, and they were coming for them. They had been spotted.

Come. We need to dig further in. What was there to do but follow the sensor into the trees. He pushed the mess of question right to the back of his mind.

By the time they were settled, it was getting darker. They had been there a while, and the questions had taken shape. How the mandahoi had spotted the riders from such a distance was bewildering, and how they had been seen was even more so. They were deep in the copse, scraped and clawed by the wiry bushes that they hid within. The mandahoi had set their horses loose on the far side of the trees, which seemed absurd. But he kept the question to himself. They were now deep and watchful. They had been for some time. All was quiet and yet still they waited in silence. Always silent. It was time to ask.

How did they spot us?

Those golden eyes turned to him. When you know what to look for, the signals are bright. Now quiet. We do not want to offer any more than we already have.

So that was what the mandahoi meant by ‘seeing’. But there was something unsaid too. He gulped. He had definitely just been reprimanded.

The Stranger was bright in the evening sky, casting an eerie red glow over the landscape. There was a strange crackling noise in the air, mixed with the unmistakable sound of dry brush being trampled. The sensor looked at him once more, and indicated with his fore and middle finger. This was what they’d come for, and his heart raced. What were they going to find?

The noise grew, and the strange crackling grew more complex. There were multiple sources, like it was a language, and every now and then there was a grumble. Or a roar. He couldn’t tell. The sounds of feet were all around them, but still he could see nothing. His heart pounded in his ears, but hopefully only he could hear that. Aleña’s hand settled firmly over his left fist. He had been clenching and unclenching it rhythmically. The leather glove had been squeaking. A sound erupted and he trembled. Yes, that was definitely a roar.

He wanted to close his eyes, but his companion demanded submission. He was a mandahoi after all. But the noises were all around them. Were they going to be stepped upon by these things? Whatever they were. Aleña grabbed his jaw and pointed his face at a clearing. He searched the darkness, unsure what he was meant to— And then it was there. Before him. It was as if his stomach had fallen though the earth.

It crashed through the scrub, swinging a great brute of black-steel before it. And its body was enshrined in the matt steel too, encased in a mineral bastion. Only the head and hands were exposed, but that was enough. That was enough.

Because the thing was made entirely of shadow. Black flickering shadow. It was darkness personified.

The thing appeared to be looking about – who could tell with a shadow? – but then it screamed in a peculiar combination of clicking and a serpentine cry. It stomped off through the brush. In the other direction. Away from them. Only then did he resume his breathing. It sounded so terribly loud.

He was reprimanded by the mandahoi with a finger to the hawk-mask. Was it truly that loud? He nodded and closed his eyes. His pulse throbbed in his ears and he had a headache. A terrible headache that pushed against his skull, desperate for release. What had he seen?

They waited almost the entire night. He tried speaking on a number of occasions, but each time the mandahoi stopped him with a sharp gesture. The stomping of the monsters had faded entirely, and he was itching. He had so many questions. It was only when the Stranger was dipping over the horizon that the mandahoi finally turned to him.

Did you see it?

Yes. They still spoke at a whisper. The mandahoi nodded, and then slowly crept from the brush. He followed obediently. Aleña was still dreadfully cautious, pointing at the ground and stepping with impossible deftness, but he followed as best he could. He was definitely student here.

But his mind wandered. What was it that he’d seen? A children’s story drifted into his head: ‘Dusk is Coming. That was about shadow creatures, but that was just made-up nonsense. Wasn’t it? Surely it couldn’t be—

The ground cracked; a twig snapping beneath his feet. He looked up and the mandahoi shook his head. His master was disappointed. And then it rose, like the clicking of an angry insect. It was a cry, the shout of a sentinel. They had been snared. Dusk was coming to get them.

They ran, but it was never going to be enough. Never. The shadows melted from the trees, surrounding them, crushing them. Dooming them. His breath misted before him, but he couldn't obscure his fate. And this was all his fault. He’d used his eyes, but he had not truly seen.

And his failing was going to be the doom of them both.

Part One

Chapter 1

—Anejo—

Anejo sat waiting. Always the waiting. It was so frustrating. She fidgeted a thread at the hem of her uniform, yanking it loose. Making it worse. She should stop doing that. But what else was there to do? This wasn't the Mandahoi life she'd anticipated. She wanted so much more. But no, here they were, just waiting. But waiting for what?

The whole place was grey, just like her mood. The sky was an endless sheet of slate, reaching from east to west and north to south. The various mineral shades of stone may be forgiven their blandness, but even the river in the valley far below was slow and lifeless. What little shrubbery that survived in the place lived in an ashen state, adding to the flavour. And what colour did the notorious Order of Mandahoi wear? Grey. They were called the Greys, and here they fitted right in. Only they didn't.

She had joined the illustrious and much vaunted Order of Mandahoi for the action, not the inactivity. She was supposed to be a fledgling all-purpose warrior! Sitting beside a path was the kind of work a beggar did, not a specialised killer. This was supposed to be her inauguration, but it wouldn’t come fast enough. Time scraped by. Slowly.

She rocked back and forth, nothing else to do. What are we waiting for?

Her loyal friend barely stirred from her daydream. Xen looked wistful, and then confused, and then vaguely alert. But still confused.

I’m sorry?

How could she daydream like that? She really despaired of her friend's wandering mind sometimes, but this was not the place for a lecture. Her friend was probably too fuzzy for a lecture in any case. What was with the girl? She just didn't get it.

She grabbed hold of the thread once more, but decided that it didn’t need further worrying. In fact, what it could do with was being mended. She was bored. Argh! She needed stimulation. What to do? Yes. She would go over the facts once more. She had done it many times already.

There were over a hundred of the Grey scattered about the high mountain pass. Most were young like she was, and on the verge of first action, but few appeared to share her excitement. A majority were reclined casually, wiling away the early morning in casual indifference. A few lids were even closed, which was shocking. There was genuine danger here, or at least she hoped there was.

But not everyone was bored. At least one set of eyes betrayed an understanding of the situation, but Aran was wide-eyed for a very different reason. He was afraid. He was always afraid. Why did he pursue this soldiering life? She meant to ask him, but always forgot.

Only a handful of the soldiers, the experienced caste leaders, were alert, but what were they alert to? That was the question that rankled.

She stood abruptly, drawing attention to herself. She didn’t care. She had a knack for noteworthy actions, or at least actions that differentiated her. Perhaps it was because she was born into the ruling family of Ahan, but she had an inkling it was actually because she was a woman. Yes, definitely. She was born with a woman's body, and it had been a struggle ever since. But she had forced herself into the Grey, into a man's world, so she had come a long way. And she could still go further. It was time for confrontation.

Where are you going?

I’m going to speak to Keles.

Xen exploded from her dreamy state and jumped to her feet. Keles, their illustrious leader, was only four years her senior, but that wasn't the point. An ocean of experience separated them. She respected the man, she really did, but there was always tension between them. She didn't know why that tension was there, but she suspected that it was because of her sex. Her acceptance into the Grey had annoyed many people, so why not Keles too? Even if he was almost a brother.

She turned to her friend, the only other female member of the Mandahoi. They had been permitted together, solidarity in friendship. But Xen was very different to her: brushing down and straightening her uniform. She almost laughed. Almost. It was a wonder they were friends at all, so different were their personalities. But they had been friends a long time, and that was a strong foundation. Despite this, they still had their disagreements.

Don’t go pissing Keles off.

Their leader stood some distance up the mountain pass. He was the most respected soldier in a generation, and he was also her field commander. In a Mandahoi system based on order and logic, nothing good could come from agitating him. But she had always swum upstream.

Would I?

Keles was contemplating something, but as she approached him, he turned. He did not look terribly forgiving. She breathed in, sucking a healthy lungful of air. She took hold of her weapon's grip, drawing comfort from it. Not that she would use it against Keles; that would be suicide.

It was a fine weapon, a benefit of her illustrious birth, and she couldn't wait to use it. She didn't like all this waiting, but hopefully it was almost over. Head back, shoulders wide, she carried on. She was committed.

Anejo. Don’t do this.

Xen had come too. Such a faithful friend. She turned and grinned at her. Her mouth-guard would hide the gesture, but she was sure Xen would get the point. She reached Keles and focussed on the task at hand. She needed to speak with just the correct amount of antagonism.

I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, but what exactly are we doing?

He did not look impressed, and the swelling of his wide chest was suggestive. He might actually explode. But he didn't. He deflated, pinched the bridge of his nose, and shook his head. This was a recurring battle.

Excuse me?

She needed to prod harder. She needed to find a sensitive spot. Even the pleading touches of her best friend would not stop her.

Well, sir, we all know that it was someone else who steered us here, so what are we waiting for? No disrespect, but you don't appear to know what you're doing.

The antagonism worked perfectly, but she wasn’t surprised. It was a particular skill of hers.

—Xen—

By the will of the gods – all of them – it was hard being Anejo's friend sometimes. But Xen was her friend, even after all these years, and that was really that. In some ways they were a perfect pairing: volatile and stable; rogue and prudent; there were probably others too. And most of the time Anejo's outbursts were relatively innocent. But not this time. That was guaranteed to upset their commander.

Then again, that was exactly what Anejo would have wanted. She was a destabiliser, and it was only Anejo who seemed capable of ruffling Keles. To everyone else he was the cool personification of Mandahoi control. But not here.

She stepped back instinctively. Her commander seemed to expand, like a cobra about to bite. She decided that she needed to isolate herself from the exchange. Her mind wandered.

She gave her uniform a look over, or what she could see at least. It was full of creases and the grimy marks of use. She tried smoothing the rough disturbance in the grey material, but it would not give. The grime was too stubborn. When would they return to civility? It had been too long; it always was. Her hair must be a wreck by now.

What gives you the right to ask such questions?

Keles's outburst drew her back. His voice was low, controlled, but there was anger behind it. Anejo had definitely succeeded in unsettling their commander. She put her hand on Anejo’s arm, but the suggestion was shunned. Her friend ploughed on.

Let’s say, for now, that I speak as a member of the Jinq family.

If anything about Anejo usurped her boldness, it was her cunning. Her status as member of the ruling family opened many doors, and it was a card she would happily play. But this would be a stubborn lock, not least because Keles was Jinq in all but name. He had been adopted by Anejo's grandfather, so they were almost kin. But she had the name and he didn't. That spoke volumes.

That holds no weight here. I am your commander.

He remained defiant, commanding, but he did not look happy. He wanted this argument less than anyone, but Anejo was as stubborn as the stains on her uniform.

And then Keles looked at her, and she flushed. No, she blushed most likely, and hid her face. But the look was enough. She imagined embracing him, holding his strong warm body. Hugging him. And he would hold her back, smelling her hair. Whispering in her ear. Nibbling her ear. And then she imagined her clothes falling away, and he would be naked too. Glorious Sister, he was amazing. She just had to lay her hands on—

This was not the place! She shook her head, clearing away the fantasy. She was back where she’d been: a bland and stony path in a grey and rocky valley. Disappointing. This was not the life for her.

Then how do I get you to speak? Something is afoot here, I know it is, and I think you do too. We gain nothing from silence.

Keles deflated at that, visibly cooling. Anejo had cleverly laid a level path, and their commander was giving it thought. Perhaps Anejo really was right? Annoyingly, she usually was. But then things got worse. The stranger approached.

What is it you suspect, Anejo?

This man was the living legend, and yet he was so close to her. It was somewhat suffocating, and she gawped at him. He was Kato, the Axis, a legend even when lined up against the greatest in history. But he was also a foreigner, and he was not welcome. The feats associated with this oddity were beyond the realms of belief, and yet here he was, stood beside her. Breathing lightly. Looking rather inconspicuous if truth be told. Maybe that was the only astonishing thing about him.

She had expected to quiver at the mere presence of the man, but she didn't. He was barely a shadow of his reputation, and unfathomably plain to look upon. But that wasn't the greatest puzzle. This was the question: why was he here in the first place? It just didn’t make sense. Even Anejo couldn't work it out, and she thought she knew everything.

This is not your place, Kato. Keles looked even less pleased, if that was possible. Poor man. He had so much to deal with.

I am not here to trump your authority. I am merely curious as to the nature of Anejo’s thoughts.

It was fair to say that Keles was vast; a great cliff of a man with shoulders that could span a river and legs that could support a house. Such was his size that he cast a shadow upon his antagonists.

And yet the Axis was stubborn in his interference. Just like Anejo, Kato played against natural authority. But it was different too. It was almost as if he was one string shy of a working lute, and couldn’t comprehend the situation. He battled authority because he didn’t understand the consequences. Fool.

But then there was the reputation. The reputation.

Anejo appeared to have forgotten her involvement in the spat, and just stared at Kato. She didn't respond to the man, which was surprising. This was a fine opportunity for someone of Anejo's aspirations.

Then again, this was Keles’s command, and he would not be won over so easy.

Both of you can go. We will get moving when I deem it appropriate. Now, leave me.

He turned, and his eyes lingered on her for just a moment. She warmed; flushed. Damn it. She looked away, looked down, trying to hide her cheeks. Did anyone see it? Anejo huffed noisily and shook her head. At least one person had seen it, but that was okay. Her friend knew of the secret relationship, though that didn’t mean she liked it.

Keles's dismissal eased the pressure, and the two antagonists were left stranded. Phew. She was glad that was over. The daydreaming that she'd been so rudely interrupted from was calling. She took one step away from the congregation, but that was as far as she got. Chaos rose up in the mountain pass, and it was like an echo of her fears.

Her life as a soldier began, and she shivered with discontent. This was not the life for her.

—Aran—

Anejo’s display had been outrageous, and Aran found himself marvelling at her confidence. Oh how he wished he could be that bold. But no. He was craven.

But it was not his fault.

Tension infiltrated the students about him, and he was not immune. But his was another sort of tension. The darker side of him, something that lived at the back of his head, bubbled with intent. It was like a warm alter-ego, though sometimes it flared unbearably hot. It was not a nice companion. And recently, the other half had been wrestling him for control. But he did not want to concede. He did not want to be that thing. He had succumbed once in the past, and that had made him a soldier, but that was enough. That was enough. The demonic side of him must stay locked away.

The situation changed, grew more threatening, and he hunkered down. Hiding. He saw the first rider hurtle about the stony corner, sending scree skittering into the river far below. And there was panic plain on the fleeing man's face. The darkness in him bubbled, pushing against his conscious self. Threatening his conscious self. He swallowed it back.

Further horsemen charged about the bend, and they were aggressive. These men were the reason for the other rider's flight. They were giving chase, screaming and waving their weapons threateningly in the air. The sounds of their battle-cries echoed about the valley, loud and angry. It all pressed in on him.

How many were there? Would they get to him? But then the screams died and the pursuers pulled up their horses. One hundred mandahoi blocked their path, and that would not be expected. Or welcome. Mandahoi were quick. Or at least the other mandahoi were quick. He was craven.

It was in a stunning instant that the caste leaders strung their short-bows and let fly. The accuracy was giddying, and the pursuers grunted with the impact. They lingered on horse-back for a moment, but then each slid casually away. Dead. The danger was instantly over, and he exhaled. His demon receded too. For now.

The Mandahoi seniors vaulted quickly up the road. The fleeing rider was eased from his horse, but it was clear that the man was nearly dead. Even he could tell that. Keles quizzed the dying man and Anejo buzzed about him. Every other student, himself included, stood dumbstruck a hundred steps down the path. It was when Keles laid the head of the man gently to the ground and looked up that situation became real. Keles’s spoken orders wafted, like they moved through honey.

Nazalia has been assailed. We leave immediately.

The man who claimed to be Kato disappeared in the direction of Nazalia. That was unsettling. Where Kato trod, danger followed, and according to the stories, it was usually a lot of danger. He gulped.

Soon he would be asked to demonstrate his reluctant learning, and his alter-ego purred in anticipation. He touched a patch of rough skin at his left shoulder blade, contoured and smooth through the material of the uniform. Touching that deformation was a soothing action, essential for a coward like he was. He needed his comforts. He was ushered to his feet, but slow with it.

It was not a long journey to the devastated town of Nazalia. It was a town which, as far as he could tell, had little purpose. It seemed mostly established for trade, and given its position on the border with Gorfinia, it probably elicited illegal trade. But there seemed little reason to attack it. It was a shabby looking town as far as he could tell.

He found himself shivering, half because of the cold and half with fear. But fear of what? Was it fear for what they would unveil in this mountain town? There would be plenty of danger there, for sure. Or was it what lurked within that scared him? No. Perhaps it was neither. Or both.

It was his paradox: he wanted to be a soldier, he truly did, but he could not succeed without conceding to his anger. And that anger stirred the darkness. But the more the demon grew, the more that he regressed. So he could not concede to it for fear of losing himself. He simply could not concede. And so he couldn't be a soldier.

And yet here he was. Walking into battle. And it was a battle.

The scene before him was horrifying. The Mandahoi had arrived at the devastated town, and he was part of a ten-strong group at the boundary. Nazalia was dying before him, its soul being ripped apart by rampant invaders. It made him retch, which he managed to keep to himself. What would Anejo think if she could see that? He was desperate to hide away, but luckily that wasn't necessary. He could blend spectacularly into the background. Anejo sensibly ignored him.

What a mighty soldier he made! The enemy must be quaking at his insignificance. He cringed at his own meekness, but he would rather that than the carnage of the town. Their fate was impossibly worse.

He hunkered down and hoped the horror would pass him by.

—Anejo—

This was not how it was supposed to be. Any semblance of chivalrous bravado was gone, replaced with something foul. And for Anejo, it was a new experience. Her privileged existence had not prepared her for this. It sat in her throat, hot and phlegm-ridden. She twitched with anticipation, perfectly still but poised and ready. Ready for vengeance. Because this was anger of the purest kind, hatred for the revolting scene before her, and she could barely control it. Control it though, she did. She was of the Grey, after all.

She watched the young citizen being roughly handled by her captors. The poor girl was sobbing, but it wasn't a sharp cry for what was coming. They were the racking moans of what has already passed. She could barely be fifteen, but she was over a barrel, her dress hitched up and her legs splayed. Blood was visible on the hitched skirts, but that did not deter her aggressors. The next bastard was preparing himself for his own dose of cruel pleasure. She wanted to see him die.

You are to lead this group. Is that clear?

It was Keles; her commander. She calmed herself with a deep breath and turned to face him, smiling behind her mouth-guard. The man's wait for perfection was really grating against her view on the situation. They needed to intervene! Her commander's eyes turned momentarily to the scene of atrocity, and then turned back to her. Not a jot of emotion. But this was not the time for conflict with allies. There were enemies enough for that. She nodded her assent.

Good. You will use your projectiles until a caste master ushers you out. Wait for the command, and only loose when the signal reaches its zenith. Do you understand?

She nodded again, but screwed her face up as the girl screamed again. Keles was staring right into her, probing her. Did he see what lay within? Did he see her intent?

Good luck.

Apparently not. Or maybe he did but he wilfully ignored it. It didn't matter now.

Keles left and she was left to her furious mood, but she caught sight of Xen, clear discomfort on her face. Poor Xen. She was half inclined to comfort her friend, but they were all in the same position. This was first conflict for all of them. Then again, she had other plans, and she was going to leave her companions exposed. But she had to do it. It was the right thing to do. The ache in her gut told her as much.

She turned, and the scene before her reaffirmed her belief. The bastard was still trying to get his cock out. His friends laughed at his incompetence, and the young woman whimpered. This had to be ended.

Her short-bow was in her hands, primed and ready. Even if it was mainly for show. She eased back the chord, and her arm ached with the effort. But she didn't relent.

The tip of the arrow was perfectly angled, targeting the throat of the fumbling man, but there was a breeze and the shot would be tough. And her eyes streamed from the smoke. The town was burning. The effort of holding the chord tight was telling, as was the effort of holding her emotions in check. When would it come?

It seemed to last forever, but then finally, it did. The flaming arrow streaked though the sky, and she loosed. A sharp gust feathered her cheek, and she exhaled like she'd been winded. It was a pleasing release. And then it registered: the fight had started, and the four invaders stumbled at the onslaught. Her life as a soldier began.

Her own missile missed, taken by the wind and deposited harmlessly to the side. But others had more luck, and the bastard who had his chainmail hoisted about his middle slumped forward with grey fletch wedged in his round belly. The young woman was smothered by the dying body and she screamed, but she wriggled free and, in the confusion, ran. The poor girl's skirts tumbled to the floor as she went.

And there it was: her first victory. Even if the victory wasn't hers. But she did not dwell on it. She had other plans.

The other three invaders had rallied against the arrows, and now concealed themselves behind wooden shields. Her fellow apprentices continued their bombardment, but she was more than just a stock. She was a mandahoi. As she moved effortlessly over the rocky landscape, she needed a release. So she shouted. No, she screamed. The hatred drove her on.

She was upon them, and her immaculate weapon clawed at the defences. They seemed surprised, so she screamed again, swinging her blade wildly. Control was now utterly beyond her, and a life that she had dreamed of came into violent being. It was not as she expected.

Chapter Two

—Xen—

Xen crouched lower to the ground, creeping forward. Shivering. The sounds of battle were all around her. Even hidden in the rabbit-warren of Nazalia’s streets, the breath of danger was everywhere. In some ways, being concealed was the worst place to be. The threat was hidden from her; ready to pounce. Then again, the danger was only a part of the problem. It was the weight of responsibility which really tolled. Damn Anejo, and damn her recklessness. She really resented her friend sometimes.

She prayed that the Brother, the pagan god of bravery, was close at hand. She couldn’t see him in the cloudy sky. It was oppressively cloudy, but he might still be up there. Hopefully.

She turned to see only shadows behind her. The others were there, relying on her for strength, and she resented them too. She wanted to be hidden as much as the next rookie, but her eight fellow apprentices had followed her as if she were a commander. She was now their leader, their strong-willed director. How stupid was that? Her breathing was tight, oh so tight. And someone had put a lead bar in her stomach too. It dragged her down. She was no leader.

The street was miserable; a filthy place of overflowing drainage. She stepped gingerly, scanning her path for danger. Why had she ever let Anejo convince her to join this forsaken institution? She was no soldier, and she certainly wasn't a killer. She shook her head. Her senses were alert, relaying constant messages, but her will was weak. What she really wanted was a way out. Unfortunately, there was no easy way out.

Something plucked at her gut and she squatted instinctively, searching around her. She puffed her chest out and spread her shoulders, but it was a futile gesture. The devilish looking man jumped from the shadows, axe dropping fast. What should she do? Why had all her training abandoned her? She threw her simple sword up, and steel bit jarringly against steel. She yelped.

Is that the cry of a woman, is it?

He spoke with an uneducated thickness that mirrored his size. The appearance of the man was hard, like he lived in the constant grip of danger. And it appeared that he had formed robust protection, both physical and mental, against such a life. He was alert, and definitely angry. But there was also greed there, and something deeply unpleasant. Never before had being a woman been so uncomfortable.

He smiled grimly, revealing a half set of browned teeth. She slunk away, but he kept on coming.

I’m gonna teach you how a woman should behave, bitch.

What a comic statement. It seemed so out of place in this situation that for the briefest moment she wasn’t afraid. Then he continued his approached, and she backed up further.

Come help me!

None of her companions responded, and why would they? They were safe. A whimper escaped, and her assailant laughed. His would be an easy victory.

Or would it? She was of the Grey, after all, an organisation with an almost unrivalled reputation for killing. All in the name of the greater good, of course. But this man should be scared of her. He didn’t seem it.

She held onto that thread, and recalled what Anejo had done just moments before. It sparked her from her paralysis. She smoothed her uniform, and the bastard laughed again.

No matter. She contained her anger, placing it carefully in a mental box, and ease spread forth. Then she closed her eyes. This was just another day of exercise, just another day of relentless repetition, and in that,