The Dread Wolf: Book 2 : the Hand of Justice

By Nikki Dorakis

The Hand of Justice Series started out as one book, The Eye of Zoar released in e-book format and paperback through Author House in July 2012 as A Rising Darkness. The original story was lost in a move and the re-writing of it resulted in plot changes that expanded the storyline especially when the ending changed and I lost my main character. Such are the vagaries of fictional worlds I suppose.
The norm for characters in this series is bi-sexuality. The main character is, to use the language of his world slye he beds only with men. Those readers looking for salacious scenes will probably be disappointed; the sexual nature of the men and women of Zetaria is a fact of life and even in the use of prostitutes there is respect.
The Dread Wolf picks up where A Rising Darkness ends.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Sep 27, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477225899

Nikki Dorakis

I have been writing for a number of years. My work as a psychiatric nurse has always taken precedence until at the ripe old age of fifty-five, I decided to retire and go part-time so that I could work on his books. I am a Pagan priest and an ordained minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanism and in this series I draw on the teachings, myths and legends of my religion in the creation of my characters. I write for pleasure and now want to share that pleasure with you. I hope this brings you as much enjoyment in the reading of it as it gave me in the writing of it. Nikki Dorakis passed away suddenly on 4 April 2013.

Book preview

© 2012 by Nikki Dorakis. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be used, edited, transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise). No part may be reproduced in any manner without permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews or articles.

This work may not be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the permission of the Author/Publisher.

Permission can be obtained through contact via e-mail : [e-mail]

This is a work of fiction : all characters are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

The opinions expressed and language used in this book are those of the characters; they do not know about ‘political correctness’ or sexual equality – their opinions and attitudes do not represent those of the author.

Cover Design : © Nikki Dorakis April 2012.

Illustrations & Photography: ©Nikki Dorakis April 2012

Published by AuthorHouse 12/04/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-2588-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-2589-9 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

About the Author

About the Stories

PLATES

Part One

Chapter 1 - The Road Leads North

Chapter 2 – The Messenger - Departure

Chapter 3 – One Alone

Chapter 4 – A New Friend

Chapter 5 – Discovery

Chapter 6 – The Slaver’s Den

Chapter 7 – The Return

Chapter 8 – Kidnapped

Chapter 9 – Rescue

Chapter 10 – Betrayed

Chapter 11 – Revelation

Chapter 12 – Another New Friend

Chapter 13 - Preparation

Part Two

Chapter 1 – Bloody Slaughter

Chapter 2 – Long-Pig

Chapter 3 – Feldan’s Reach

Chapter 4 – Bounty Hunters

Chapter 5 – Freedom

Chapter 6 – Finally Free

Chapter 7 – Betrayed

Chapter 8 – Loss

Chapter 9 – Swords for Hire

Chapter 10 – Into Battle

Chapter 11 – Respite

Chapter 12 – Judgement & Verdict

Chapter 13 – Denos

Chapter 14 – The Dragon’s Keep

Chapter 15 – Finding the Enemy

Chapter 16 – An Old Enemy

Chapter 17 – Ebony Gate

Chapter 18 – The Serav Killers

Chapter 19 – Respite

Chapter 20 – Revenge

Chapter 21 – Honourable Warriors

Chapter 22 – The Rage

Chapter 23 - Exposed

Chapter 24 – Mid-Winter’s Day

About the Author

I have been writing for a number of years. My work as a psychiatric nurse has always taken precedence until at the ripe old age of fifty-five, I decided to retire and go part-time so that I could work on his books.

I am a Pagan priest and an ordained minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanism and in this series I draw on the teachings, myths and legends of my religion in the creation of my characters.

I write for pleasure and now want to share that pleasure with you. I hope this brings you as much enjoyment in the reading of it as it gave me in the writing of it.

About the Stories

The Hand of Justice Series started out as one book, The Eye of Zoar – released in e-book format and paperback through Author House in July 2012 as A Rising Darkness. The original story was lost in a move and the re-writing of it resulted in plot changes that expanded the storyline – especially when the ending changed and I lost my main character. Such are the vagaries of fictional worlds I suppose.

The norm for characters in this series is bi-sexuality. The main character is, to use the language of his world "slye" he beds only with men. Those readers looking for salacious scenes will probably be disappointed; the sexual nature of the men and women of Zetaria is a fact of life – and even in the use of prostitutes there is respect.

The Dread Wolf picks up where A Rising Darkness ends.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Special thanks to Michael Shell

for the hours you spent with me being read at!

Thanks also to all those who believed in the stories.

Thanks to:

Bioware ™ and the makers of Dragon Age™

for giving us Fenris and inspiring the creation of Bryndw and

the Seravs

and to

Damh The Bard whose album

Tales from the Crow Man

reminded me of happier times

Apologies

To any reader who may be offended by the bawdy limerick sung by

Gwrhydd and Iorwedd

but in their defence, they were under the influence of ginger at the time.

And Special Thanks

to

The Staff of Costa, Waterstones,

Portsmouth:

Zoe, Kayleigh, Jade, Mikki,

Connor, David, George, Mike

and

Ninja Josh

For keeping the coffee coming!

Notes concerning the songs:

The Ravens (Part 1 – Chapter 13) is based on the traditional folk song Two Ravens

The Ballad of Serav Gwyn (Part 1 – Chapter 13) is based on the traditional folk song Matty Groves

The Parting Cup (Part 2 – Chapter 1) is based on the traditional folk song The Parting Glass

Llhyn Gyfnau (No more chains) (Part 2 – Chapter 11) is an original work by the author inspired by Caravans (Mike Batt)

The Eagle & The Serpent (Part 2 – Chapter 14) is an original work by the author.

Pata Bann (Part 2 – Chapter 24) is based on the traditional folk song Pata-pata-pan

The Limericks – courtesy of Gwrhydd and Iorwedd.

In the Series:

A Rising Darkness (Book 1 of the Hand of Justice)

Meriq was sixteen when his adopted father and mentor was murdered in the night. When he took the news to King Janir he had no idea that he was going to be called upon to replace his late mentor as the King’s Ez’n – his chief adviser.

He was about to become embroiled in a fight against an invading army of merciless killers and slavers and entangled in Janir’s own machinations to ensure the throne would pass to his youngest son. The Black Legion is spreading – and time is running out. Will Meriq, Janir’s ‘little dragon’, be able to orchestrate the war and fulfil his promise to the king in light of the Monarch’s failing health? And will he be able to save his lover Dthor-Aid’n before the Dark Pact he swore to is invoked… ?

The Dread Wolf (Book 2 of the Hand of Justice)

I made a promise and I will keep it. I will hunt down the Mage Caerlon and his slavers and I will kill every last one of them. I will not stop until every trace of this vile plague is gone from the world.

Aid’n travels on to fulfil a promise he made to Meriq. He travels with just his horse and battle hound and a lust for mage’s blood. His goal is clear – kill the mage and his slavers. A simple enough quest, he thinks – but Caerlon is more elusive than a haunting of ghosts, and Aid’n did not allow for the fact that promises made to wizards are not that simple to keep – and then there was the runaway Serav…

N’Mesne – The Avenger (Book 3 of the Hand of Justice)

Aid’n’s quest to destroy the Ellurian slavers and their mage masters continues as he fights to honour the pledge he made to his Consort – the White Serav. Elluria and the ruling Magisters must fall if the people of the Northern Reaches are to live free from fear once more. Will Aid’n and his little band of mercenaries and Seravs succeed where many have failed before? The Magisters are not going to walk quietly through the gates of oblivion and some will even return from the dead to protect their interests…

Coming soon:

Call Down the Thunder (Book 4 of the Hand of Justice)

Aid’n and his troops have returned to Zetaria for a well-earned rest. He and Bryndw have been blood-bonded – a fact that greatly displeased Faedron for it has changed his friend significantly.

Aid’n and Bryn and the men of the Stanja-Tamar (the Hand of Justice) are looking forward to a quiet life and some well-earned respite.

On the night of Jae’nt’s wedding celebrations, however, news comes from Morla that the kingdom is facing disaster.

Aid’n and his friend journey north once more to aid King Markos and his stricken nation. But as the journey progresses dark and disturbing secrets from Morla’s past are uncovered – a king who prizes honour and integrity above all else is about to discover a centuries-old treachery that may cost him his kingdom and his life – and the lives of his whole nation. Old ghosts must be laid to rest and old scores settled. As his father once told him, Markos, there are three things in this world that have no mercy – the desert, the sea and old enemies.

Also by Nikki Dorakis and available on Kindle:

The Lynx

Images (Short Stories)

The Zone Chronicles:

Blood Law (Book 1)

Unity’s Law (Book 2)

EndGame (Book 3)

The Horns of the Hunter. (Book 4)

Prologue

What in the Nine Hells am I doing?

I had asked myself this question so many times over the past four lunations – ever since I rode out of Medravia and away from my King and the men I called brothers and friends.

What was I doing?

Meriq had been dead for almost half a cycle and here was I sitting in the stinking little rat-shit port of Pésa waiting for a ship to dock so I could kill a man and fulfil the promise I had made to my Consort on his deathbed; a plain and simple quest. Then I would stop being a mercenary and sometime hunter and go home to Zetaria and reclaim my life.

Or so I thought…

The Gods thought otherwise… and I was to learn that anything involving Meriq alive or dead was rarely plain and never simple.

PLATES

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The Dread Wolf

Part One

Nikki Dorakis

Chapter 1 - The Road Leads North

Gelvanis invar Hibernis

THE CRASH OF the waves on the rocks far below startled me into wakening and for a moment I could not remember where I was. As the bleary confusion cleared and I regained my bearings I began to move around. It was dark now and the moons were well risen, hanging high and full as carnival lanterns in the clear, light-studded heavens. I yawned, stretched and slowly began to clear away the remains of my afternoon meal. I paused to take a good look at the moons and tutted in mild irritation. I must have been sleeping for at least six sectas for the moons were almost at their zenith.

Stuffing a small cloth and the remains of a large, savoury pie into my satchel, I swung the bag over my shoulder and began picking my way down the precarious cliff path which led from the pinnacle of rock on whose summit I had spent the afternoon contemplating my next move.

Below me Pesa lay in its cove, the town lights glimmering like embers in a dark hearth. The town had been my home for the past two lunations and I counted myself fortunate to have been so well received by the Alfexans. When first I arrived from Medravia I was mistaken for a Cassandrian because of my blond hair and despite the fact that the Pentageonate Wars had been over for many years there still existed a deep suspicion between the two nations.

I paused momentarily in my descent to take in the moonlit vista staring at the glimmering lagoon below and listening to the soft hush of the night breeze. For a moment my vision blurred and the facets of reflected moonlight merged to form a face. The wind picked up briefly and sang a name as it whispered through the conifers.

Suddenly I was no longer on the path down to Pesa but sitting in a bed chamber in the Jade Palace of Medravia holding Meriq’s hand as the life drained from him. Anger and grief boiled in my gut as the memory replayed unbidden. How long would it be I wondered, before the memories stopped haunting me, until my dreams ceased to be occupied with the images of my lover’s death? How long would it be until the pain of remembering would be replaced by the joy of remembering? How long before my heart healed? Yet even as I pondered the questions my mind shifted and I was standing in the Throne Room watching helplessly as the sorcerer Caerlon scrambled for the side exit when his Sylvan fell. I felt my mouth shape a smile as once again I saw Kylos’ dart smash into the sorcerer’s shoulder sending him sprawling. The kalthar had launched the dart with the full force of his considerable strength and even from where I stood I could tell that the missile had gone deep. The mage would have been seriously wounded and only a healer of exceptional skill would be able to draw the blade out. I hoped it would be many lunations before the mage found such a one.

Shoving the thoughts and images aside I set out once more towards the town no longer wishing to linger on the cliffs where I so often sought solace and determined to leave the name Caerlon hanging on the wind. I would be meeting the mage as his nemesis soon enough. I just had to wait another ten days for his ship to dock. Ten more days, I whispered to the itinerant stars, and then, then may the gods have mercy on him for he will get none from me.

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Quinn’s tavern was uncommonly busy when I reached it. Locals had packed the place almost to bursting point to enjoy the performance of a band of troubadours who had arrived in the late noon. The troupe was in mid-act when I arrived, entertaining the customers with songs and acrobatics. I groaned inwardly. I would not be getting much sleep if the music and dancing carried on into the small hours.

When the tumblers moved along I elbowed my way to the counter where Quinn, the landlord, stood clapping along to the syncopated rhythm of Cassandrian music.

In the large refectory the floor had been cleared to make room for two dancing boys and girls, the tables carefully arranged around the outside of the salle to allow the patrons to sit close to the entertainers and take full advantage of the spectacle. And despite my initial grumpiness at finding my usually quiet haunt a nexus of noise and very loud merriment I had to admire the strength and stamina of the dancers – especially the women since Cassandrian dances were for the most part choreographed for males and thus required a degree of strength and stamina that was rarely found in women outside of the military. It was unusual to find wandering dancers with such fine talent.

I tapped Quinn on the shoulder. Is there any danger that you might serve me, landlord, or have yon wenches rooted you to the spot?

Bless my eyes, Aid’n-zen! I was beginning to worry for ye! The plump, genial taverner took the satchel from my outstretched hand tutting crossly when he saw the leavings. Alaina will be most vexed that you did not finish it all, you know, he admonished me. He gave me a broad smile. You know that Korta and the other young men were making ready t’come a-lookin’, Aid’n-zen. It is late to be abroad on the cliff paths."

I was just about the tell Quinn not to worry so much about me when I heard the word slavers come up in conversation at a nearby table.

Groups of a dozen or more with two mages, and one of them summoned a demon to aid them in the fight – a strange glowing thing with claws and fangs that killed with lighting and a huge sword, the man was saying. His companion a pig-faced man in his mid-forties was listening intently. They took all of the children from Zentaris and, the man paused dramatically, I heard that the mages drank the blood of the parents – bled them dry; killed everyone in the town.

I took my pitcher of ale and moved closer to the men. Where did you say this happened?

Zentaris, up near Dthraklia, Aid’n-Zen, the man answered.

What were these slavers like? Is there a description?

There was a sudden explosion of applause as the dancers finished their set and my informant waited for the noise to abate before continuing. According to the reports he had heard the men were all black-clad and from all accounts the armour was enchanted and no weapon could penetrate it.

I thanked the man for his information and moved to a newly vacated table. So, driven out of the southern reaches the legion’s slavers were now operating in Alfexis – and in all probability in Cassandria. I frowned. I could do with having the Kyr-Garrin at my side now – I could then hunt the band down before they managed to get a proper foothold in Alfexis and set up their slaving highway as they had done in Mederlana. Jae’nt and Markos had managed to destroy much of the Medran network during the march home in their hunt for the titans’ killers, but even so, it seemed that the evil was far from over and if my last contact with Jae’nt was still current there remained the matter of finding the band who had so foully defiled Tariq’s brothers. A very little needle in a very big haystack, I mumbled to myself as I quaffed a little more ale. The memory of the cliff wind singing Caerlon’s name stirred in the back of my mind. I set my tankard down and stared vacantly at the gyrating dancers.

Is everything well with you, young friend? You seem anxious. Quinn said as he set a fresh pitcher of ale on the table.

I shrugged. I do not know, Quinn. I am troubled. I leaned towards the man, Have there been any Cassandrians about tonight?

Quinn’s eyebrows almost disappeared under his scant hair. He shook his head making his jowls wobble, and smiled a little wistfully. "Now there would be a rare treat."

I grimaced and poured more ale, wondering if Caerlon’s ship had docked earlier than I anticipated and whether he had slipped past me or passed through Pesa before I arrived. No, he could not have. He was seen boarding the ship at the port of Mikos some thirty cords south of Medravia. The ship was a direct sailing bound for Pesa but even with an extremely fair wind, it would take the mage at least three lunations to sail from the Southern Sea along the coast to Pesa. I had ridden the land route, Vyrnath covering the distance effortlessly with his ground-eating strides cutting across the Medran marshes and taking a direct route to the small Cassandrian port of Kisha. The journey from Kisha to Alfexis took less than a day though landing was difficult since there was no dock where we put ashore. My choice of route had put me ahead of Caerlon’s boat by several settans.

Aid’n-zen? Quinn tapped my forearm stirring me from my musing.

I am sorry my friend, but rare treat" would not be my first choice of words to describe this man. He is an evil sort. I would be grateful if you would get word to me at once if one arrives.

Consider it done, my young friend.

I smiled to myself as Quinn returned to his post behind the counter. I knew I could rely on him for he was a taciturn and exceptionally trustworthy man – a quality rare in one whose livelihood depended as much on a stock of good gossip as it did upon good ale and food. I poured myself another tankard of ale and slouched down in my chair.

An Inn Boy came and sat with me. I smiled. Hello, Kalan. How is business?

"It would be much more pleasant if you were to avail yourself of my services once in a while, my lord," the youth smiled taking the tankard of ale I poured for him. He perched on the edge of the chair next to me cradling the mug as he drank, his dark green eyes sparkling mischievously at me over the rim of the tankard.

Once it was known that I was a Zetan and ex-military, I had never been short of offers of company both from the inn catamites and its whores. Kalan was one of the more personable and polite of the bar boys. He was always clean and well-turned out, taking great pride in his appearance. He also took great pride in his profession and even though the Alfexans did not openly approve of same sex coupling, it was generally agreed by the male and female clientele who had sampled his skill that he was indeed worth every piece of silver spent on him. He set down his tankard and I poured him more ale. We both knew I had no intention of availing myself of his offer, but he enjoyed flirting with me as much as I enjoyed him doing so. He was never lewd or inappropriately suggestive and I was not offended by his attentions and often teased him by doubting his ability to slake my thirst.

A tall slim, dark-haired soldier pushed his way through the crowd and kicked the boy’s chair. Move on, Kalan. This Zetan needs a man to take care of him.

Which is why he was talking to me, Korta! Kalan replied with a grin. The youth rose and then leaned down to me. When you tire of this rough individual and feel the need of a softer more skilled hand you know where I may be found.

Away with you, lout! Korta laughed aiming a playful kick at the youth as he departed. The soldier leaned heavily on the table pushing his face close to mine, his dark green eyes glittering like emeralds under the flickering light of the lamp behind me. It seems I cannot leave you out of my sight for even a few hours, Aid’n.

Well, Korta, I smiled, you know what we Zetans are like.

The young cadet grinned. Oh yes! And I am so pleased with that knowledge!

I leaned past him slightly to see Kalan plying his trade at another table. Korta reached over and took my hand. I turned back to him and ruffled his raven black hair pulling out the golden sword-pin that was holding the soldier’s hair-pleat in place. He laughed at me and shook his head sending the blue black tresses cascading over his back and shoulders. I leaned forward and kissed him gently on the mouth.

The music and dancing had finished and I was suddenly tired from the day’s excursion and the ale. I rose pulling out my key as I did so. Korta grinned and rose with me.

Not tonight, Korta, I said quietly, My mind is troubled and I will not be good company.

The cadet took my arm. Then I will help you forget, Captain.

I do not wish to forget, Korta. This is something I need to remember and think on.

Korta stared disappointedly at his feet. If you say so.

But I shall see you at breakfast?

Korta laughed. The entire garrison at Alfasia could not keep me from you.

I left the tavern and made my way quickly the short distance across the inn courtyard to the croft I rented from Quinn stopping only when my attention was caught by the sound of voices raised in anger.

My curious gaze came to a halt on an open window in one of the ground floor rooms. The room was well lit and it was easy to see the occupants. I stepped quickly into the shadows as a young man appeared at the window. It was one of the dancers, so I guessed the dispute was something related to the performances, or so I thought until I saw the youth’s torso and arms were heavily tattooed in yellow swirls and jagged bolts of lightning. My gut shrivelled like a salted slug.

I do not wish to do this, Errol, he was saying. I think it is wrong.

You were not created to think, Bryar. You are a Serav. You were created to call the storms, you exist to serve the master and he has sent you to do his bidding.

The youth seemed to wilt as he leaned heavily on the window cill. I know, and the Magister will bleed and skin me if I do not do what he desires.

Then away with you and do as we have been commanded.

Not until all are gone, Bryar said defiantly. If I am to do this, I will not take lives it has not been commanded that I should take.

The youth leaned out grabbed the shutters and slammed them closed.

I suddenly became aware of the door studs pricking my back. Grabbing the door handle I shoved the key in the lock and pushed the door open roughly shutting it hard behind me before hurrying into the warm glow of the foyer lamp.

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Korta-Zen has not come with you, lord? The houseboy frowned as he peered beyond me to the door. I shook off my cloak and settled by the fire, staring into the flames. Master? All is well is it not?"

The note of concern in the servant’s voice shook me out of my musing. Yes Gannys, with Korta all is well.

The youth disappeared down the hallway returning moments later with a tray of verdan tea and hot oatcakes. He poured the bright green liquid into an earthenware beaker and handed it to me. I took it rather more reluctantly than I intended for I had little taste for the aromatic brew, preferring the spicy tartness of ruby-spike. Gannys looked disappointed.

I am sorry, master, but the ruby-spike is finished.

I know, I answered a little ruefully, and we cannot get it. I cradled the cup against my chest, I will grow accustomed to your green brew soon enough – you must give me more time.

Gannys left me to my musing and scuttled off to prepare my bed chamber. I turned to watch the youth as he took the stairs two at a time. He was no Polo, but he was an efficient houseboy, quick and keen to learn. Quinn had arranged him for me shortly after I took up residence in the little croft beside the inn. He originally provided me with a female servant, but when it became known that I was Zetan he replaced her with Gannys, a pretty rather than handsome youth assuming, I supposed, that a young man would be more to my liking. I smiled at the thought. It was only to be expected – the reputation of Zetan men, and especially soldiers, and their tastes was not limited to Zetaria and its immediate neighbours alone. Our complete lack of inhibition in our amatory pursuits was almost legendary. Gannys was very pleasant to look at and good at his tasks. What many did not realise, Quinn amongst them it appeared, was that Zetans, though uninhibited, were not indiscriminate and that with very few exceptions – the monster Balten being one such – we had no interest in ungirdled youths or those below the girdle age of sixteen cycles; and Gannys was but fourteen.

Now Korta was a completely different matter. I had begun paying him court two weeks after my arrival. I was a little surprised and became far more reserved when I discovered that at twenty he was Quinn’s eldest son. To my considerable surprise the innkeeper seemed delighted by my attentions to his son, though it was viewed somewhat disapprovingly by some of the locals who were unaccustomed to male intimacy. Such things did not occur commonly in Alfexis – at least not as openly as I was inclined to practice. No-one seemed particularly offended, however, and our liaison went pretty much ignored by all except Meraya, Korta’s intended bride. She was greatly displeased by the relationship, but realised that there was little she could do about it.

Meraya and Korta had been matched as children. Quinn was extremely wealthy by Pesan standards, and Meraya’s father was a cloth merchant. The match was eminently sensible according to Quinn as it would link two of the wealthiest families in the area. Of course, Quinn told me shortly after Korta and I met, I did not take into account that a handsome young Zetan soldier-of-fortune would come and turn his head!

The cadet and I had a casual relationship. Sometimes we would sleep together enjoying the sharing of our bodies, but Korta knew full well that our partnership would never be anything more. I was still in love with Meriq and I would only remain in Pesa until I had fulfilled my promise to capture and kill the mage who created the Black Legion and destroy him and his company of slavers. The road was leading me northwards and it would only be a matter of time before I had to move on.

Once Caerlon’s vessel docked and he was clear of the town I would hunt him down and kill him. When that was completed I would go in pursuit of his Black Legion Slavers.

Gannys appeared with a pot of fresh tea. You are not yourself tonight, master.

No Gannys, you are right, I replied sipping the green infusion slowly. I think the gods are plotting something.

I stood up then and sauntered over to the window where a rising storm was beginning to rattle the shutters. Pulling the heavy drapes back from the window and opening the shutters I gazed out watching as the gathering storm clouds began to devour the clear starlit sky and eclipse the moons. Random lightning flashes danced in the heavens and a short squall of rain dotted the courtyard cobbles like black sequins.

As the rain grew heavier Gannys grabbed his cloak. Your bath is filled and ready Master. I will go and see to Vyrnath and secure the stables for Master Quinn.

I nodded, scarcely hearing him as I stared at the incoming storm. Gannys wait! I said suddenly worried. I turned to the hearth where Zorn was curled up and obviously enjoying the fire and the luxury of lying on a warm bearskin rug rather than a cold damp forest floor. "Zorn. Khalvar Gannys. The dog jumped to his feet and trotted over to where Gannys stood. The boy looked puzzled. There are slavers on the prowl, Gannys; I would hate anything to happen to you. Zorn will ensure nothing awful does. Off with you now."

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The storm was in full voice by the time I had finished bathing and as I settled once more by the fire the tempest was howling and flashing like a dragon in its death throes. Gannys was nowhere to be found so I assumed he had decided to remain in the stables until the worst of the storm had passed. I remained by the fireside sipping the verdan. I began to doze off so, shaking myself awake, I climbed the stairs and tumbled into bed.

Sleep overtook me quite rapidly and my mind began to wander aimlessly through the regions of my dream world. I became aware that I was sitting in the barracks in Kalina watching as Meriq danced and the soldiers clapped and cheered him on. Once again I felt my heart pound against my chest as he spun past me and executed a spectacular aerial pirouette. The rattle of applause from the men became the clatter of the rain against the roof of the croft for a moment as the noise of the storm breached my sleep.

I drifted back into my dreams and I was looking down at King Janir. No longer was he the robust warrior king I had known but a husk of a man scarcely able to raise head from pillow without aid. Once again I saw the Crown Prince pin his father to the day bed before skewering his mother, and once again I looked on in grim satisfaction as he was claimed by The Reaver, his own grasping calumny proving to be his undoing.

Then, yet once more, I found myself sitting holding Meriq’s hand as he drifted into the cold embrace of death. I became suddenly aware that the tears I had resisted shedding for over half a cycle were squeezing out from under my eyelids and as the scene began to fade an earth-shaking crack of thunder startled me awake. I sat up bolt upright with a gasp and pausing only to wipe the tears from my cheeks I made my way to the window and threw open the shutters.

Outside the storm raged, rending the veil of the heavens with bright blades of purple and gold lightning while over on the promontory the wind screeched through crenellations of the fort like a nag railing at her husband. The clouds boiled and churned like the contents of a sorcerer’s cauldron and the thunder continued growl like a rabid dog.

A bright purple lightning flash blinded me for a moment and when my vision cleared I found myself face to face with one the dancing boys I had seen earlier that night.

Clever trick, I observed as the youth floated at the window borne aloft, it seemed, by a strong updraft of wind. I have seen things more impressive.

A needle of lightning shot past the dancer’s shoulder shattering the nightstand behind me. I am Errol and I come with a message from my master, Zetan.

Well, I hope he intends to pay for the breakage. I said glancing at the splinters of wood that littered the room and my bedding.

A spear of lightning crashed into the courtyard shattering several of the flagstones with such ferocity that I felt the house shake.

Do not make light with me, Zetan. We have no wish to cause hurt, but I must do as the Master Commands.

So you are going to try to kill me?

Errol gave a barking laugh that was mimicked in the crack of the thunder. "Magister Caerlon does not wish you dead, Zetan, otherwise you would be so already. He does, however, wish me to deliver you a warning. The boy turned away slightly and made a sharp, slicing gesture. A bolt of lightning tore through the clouds and hit the stables.

The thick thatch exploded covering the area with clumps of burning reed and straw. Errol turned back to me. As I said, Zetan, we do not wish to harm men. I think you will find it hard to pursue my master without your mount.

You little monster, I bellowed, My houseboy was in there.

Then you had best find a replacement, Errol responded coldly, Be warned, Zetan. Stay off my master’s trail and either keep your attention set on fucking your boy-soldier and hunting deer, or return to Zetaria. I suggest the latter.

So saying the youth turned away and danced across the billowing smoke towards the centre of the storm. He had not gone more than twenty cubits when I grabbed my bow from its stand by the wardrobe. My archery skills had much improved with my practise of hunting and the arrow took him centre chest as he turned to give me a mocking salute. He floated for a while on the updraft of wind before plummeting to earth like a stricken bird. I gave a small, satisfied smile. If the arrow had not killed him outright the fall would finish what I had started.

He had scarcely hit the cobbles when the storm seemed to gather itself into a tight globe. The heavens cleared but the globe remained balanced atop a narrow twisting column of wind; the sound of the thunder growing louder and the lightning more ferocious. Then without warning the tiny localised storm shot towards the house like a stooping eagle. I barely had time to dive aside before bolt after bolt of lightning burst through the open window like a salvo of arrows striking the bed and setting it alight.

I scrambled for the door and descended the stairs two at a time. By the time I reached the little square bailey men were already running from the tavern towards the burning stables. I peered up into the roiling globe. There in the centre I could just discern the other dancer, his location betrayed by the glow of his yellow tattoos.

My first arrow, thrown off by the wind, grazed his shoulder sending him off balance for a moment. The storm around him faltered and dissipated slightly. My second arrow cut a diagonal path through his upper leg. The storm cloud around him crackled wildly and vanished in an explosion of purple and gold light. He dropped from the air landing in the large bush that grew under the lounge window.

I was on him before he had time to recover himself. Grabbing him by the hair I cracked his head against the wall stunning him before dragging him over to Quinn where he and Korta stood gaping at me from the doorway. I shoved the youth at Korta. Hold him, I growled, and if he moves or struggles cut his worthless whoring throat.

What is going on, Aid’n?

He is responsible for the lightning strikes. Do not ask me how, Korta, just know that he is. I think he may have killed Gannys.

Sprinting around the side of the building to the stable yard I was confronted by the fire-fighters trying to round up and calm the horses while those attempting to see to Gannys were being held at bay by Zorn and Vyrnath. "Varesh q’orimani. Be still my friend, I told the dog. Saveet, Vyrnath. Thank you, Gannys is safe now."

The animals moved away and I pulled Gannys to his feet. The boy winced and shifted his weight on to his right foot. I fell when the lightning struck, my lord.

The ankle was swelling, but he was able to put some weight on it so I guessed it was unlikely to be broken, just badly twisted. It transpired that Zorn had grabbed him by the collar of his cloak and dragged him clear. Vyrnath kicked out the door of his stall and did the same to the others thus allowing most of the horses to escape. Those at the end of the building where the lightning struck could not have been saved.

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Back at the inn I found the dancer unconscious and bound to a sturdy chair with iron barrel chains. The youth had burned through the ropes Korta had used in the first instance and but for the young soldier’s speedy response he probably would have escaped. My companion had felled him with a well-aimed earthenware pitcher.

Which I expect you to pay me for from your next lot of wages, you hooligan! Quinn admonished as he set to strapping Gannys’ ankle for him.

Korta laughed. You can deduct it from the troubadour’s pay, he said lightly, and you can charge this one for the repairs to the stable, he added kicking the chair.

Quinn rose slowly, packing away the medical kit. You will need to stay off that for a few days, Gannys.

But what of my lord?

You let me worry about me, Gannys, I told the boy, "You just make sure you heal properly. You’re very lucky this slevyak did not kill you."

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Chapter 2 – The Messenger - Departure

Lev Kourith – Andareesh

BRYAR LOOKED AT me as if he wished me dead. Doubtless he did. I walked around him slowly, making him turn his head this way and that so that he could keep me in sight. I rested my hand on Kyrintamar making certain that I stayed in Bryar’s line of sight as I drummed my fingers on the hilt as if I was contemplating drawing it to kill him. He watched me calmly, as if he was already resigned to the fact that he would be slain, if not by me then by the townsfolk. Alfexans were not a tolerant race by nature and tended to mistrust anything new or strange – and Bryar was certainly both of those things.

You are not from Brescia, Bryar. You are clearly not a Sylvan. Where are you from?

Go fuck a hive of fire ants.

I smirked at the boy. Not a sensible reaction for someone chained to a chair and facing the man he had just attempted to kill, and I wasted no words on the youth informing him of that.

As if I care, he said, A quick death now at your hand, or a slow one later at the hand of my master.

What makes you think I will make it quick? I asked him, I spent a long time serving with Morlans. You would be surprised at the tricks I learned from them.

Then I really have nothing to lose, the youth replied calmly.

If that was so, I thought, then he would have nothing to lose by telling me where he originated. Eventually he heaved a sigh. Zamora, I come from a place called Zamora beyond the northern mountains. At least that is what I am told. I have no memory of what went before I was Graved."

Graved?

Given these markings, Bryar said. The magic destroyed everything I once was and made me what you see now; my master’s instrument.

And your master, the sorcerer Caerlon will kill you when you return to him? Why?

"Magister, Bryar corrected, Yes, he will kill me and flay my skin to reclaim the Aurite so that he can create a new Karaunolus – Storm Dancer. It is The Way, he said coolly. The iron of your arrowhead has cut several of the threads which weakens me. My leg is damaged, by both your weapon and by the fall. It is unlikely I will function properly. My use to the Magister is done

Then before he kills you, Bryar. You can deliver him a message from me. Tell him I will not stop until I have destroyed his army of slavers and placed his severed head on the grave of my beloved.

I drew Kyrintamar and struck off the chains. Go. Go and meet your master and tell him what I have said.

The youth climbed to his feet. What makes you think I will not come back and kill you? I still have enough of my ability to do that. A gold and purple aura began to glow around him.

I laughed at him. You will not kill me because, whether you are doomed or not you still obey your keeper and he does not want me dead, he wants me to leave him be and return to my homeland humiliated and defeated. And tell him also when he arrives that I am no longer here. I am riding to Zentaris to hunt down and kill his slavers. If he wishes to stop my pursuit of him he can try to kill me there. I will be waiting for him

Korta watched as the youth limped out of the tavern, wondering aloud why the youth just didn’t pick up and leave. Why would the boy return to the man he knew would kill him?

I concluded it was force of habit. The youth was a slave conditioned from the start of his servitude to obey his master. He would not even see himself as a person, let alone as an individual who could make independent choices. I had seen such a state before in those kept as slaves. Some of the acolytes we rescued from the M’rgaerdjinn could not function in the world and Markos had ordered that a refuge should be built for them where they could be cared for and protected from the rest of Morlan society.

Korta shook his head sadly. Could we not have sheltered him here? Protected him? This magister seems more beast than man.

I could not help but agree. Anyone who could have conceived of something like the Black Legion let alone condoned or practised the graving process Bryar had described could scarcely be considered human. I did not think, however, that we could save Bryar from the magister because it was impossible to save him from himself. He would find a way or a reason to return to his master and see it as his duty, as damaged property, to die so that another could be created to replace him.

That is monstrous. Korta said angrily.

"Yes it is. But it is not surprising. I saw this conduct in mages and the priests of the Morlan M’rgaerdjinn during the Alliance Campaign in Mederlana."

I thought briefly about Gorgoth and wondered if he had been doing Caerlon’s bidding or Kasseem’s. Perhaps both he and Kaseem were doing Caerlon’s dirty work. Regardless of the truth of the matter I knew that Meriq abhorred the misuse of magic more than he despised the slave traders and easily as much as he loathed the Black Legion.

Korta stared at me for a moment. So these slavers that are running around loose in Alfexis are this mage Caerlon’s creation?

I nodded. So it would seem though I doubted that he was the only magister to have an army of slavers under his control. And the question that burned in my head and frustrated me was where he might be taking his captives. Bryar had said nothing about where he had been created and would not be drawn on the matter. I knew that the magister could not be selling his captives anywhere in the Pentageonate, and neither could he be selling them in the lands wherein he had captured them. So where then?

The mage had fled Mederlana and come north so perhaps he was trying to get back to his homeland. The only place he could be heading for would have to be somewhere in the Northern Reaches. I found myself smiling. If that was the case then he would have to ride north through or past Zentaris and on to Fort Bede. I nodded to myself, hardly noticing that Korta had set a tankard of porter in front of me. I sipped it absently. Bede covered the only pass that allowed passage between Alfexis and the northern reaches.

There was no maritime traffic north. Bede was Caerlon’s only choice, and no doubt the slavers would be heading in that direction too though quite how they would manage to get their cargo past the military was anyone’s guess.

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Korta sat on the edge of my bed watching morosely as I shoved clothing and camping kit into my saddle bags and travel packs Vyrnath and my pack horse were tacked up and tethered outside the croft ready for my departure. I closed the last pack lacing it firmly and sat beside the soldier putting my arm around his shoulder and pulling him closer. He shrugged me off.

No! I don’t want you ‘comforting’ me, he growled turning his back to me. He leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees and stared sombrely into the dying embers of the bedroom fire.

Korta I…

Don’t! Just… don’t. Korta stood up and stamped over to the bedroom window throwing open the shutters.

Don’t what? I asked.

Don’t tell me you will return. We both know that it would be a lie.

I nodded my agreement. Indeed we both knew it would be a lie and a most cruel one. But we also both knew that sooner or later this day would come. Truth to tell I would have preferred it to be later. I had become quite settled in Pesa, my lying in wait for Caerlon made all the more enjoyable by the time I spent with Korta. I was genuinely fond of the cadet, but I did not love him in the way he deserved to be loved – and we both knew that too.

What I don’t understand is why you will not wait for the Magister. It is why you came north from Mederlana in the first place is it not?

I agreed it was my original reason for making the journey to Pesa, but in view of the attack by the magister’s agents I could not risk staying any longer for fear of endangering those I was fond of.

Fond of. Korta echoed flatly, "Like you’re fond of your kal-tzarrak."

That was just plain vicious, I told him angrily.

A look of regret clouded his face and he sucked in his lower lip, suddenly shamed by the statement, but before I could even formulate my rebuttal Korta turned on his heel and strode out of the room.

I flopped back on the bed and growled at the ceiling frustrated by the circumstances in which I now found myself. I knew Korta’s heart was ruling his head at the moment and I knew also that in his rational mind he knew that I could not and would not take him with me and deliberately put him in danger simply because he had his civic duty to perform. He was to marry Meraya and sire heirs. Riding off into danger with me would turn both his and Quinn’s lives into the biggest pile of dung the Pesans had ever seen. I had often told him this and he had agreed with me every time. It appeared that now, however, he was not using his head at all – at least not the one on his shoulders.

Grabbing up the packs I trudged downstairs and made my way out into the courtyard. Gannys limped over to me and threw his arms around my waist hugging me as hard as he could.

I wish you would not go, Master Aid’n. The boy’s voice was hoarse with stifled tears.

So do I Gannys, I told him, but if I stay I could bring more danger to the town and I cannot risk that.

Will you take me with you? You could teach me to be a squire.

I smiled at the boy. And I do not doubt that you would do well and be a most conscientious squire. But no. I want you to stay and look after Korta-Zen. Will you do that for me?

Gannys nodded, released his grip on me and hobbled off towards the inn pausing only to say a couple of words to Quinn as the man came over to say his goodbyes.

You will be sorely missed, Aid’n-zen, he said handing me a satchel of provisions. He patted the bag and leaned in close to me. It has a couple of Alaina’s best mutton pies in it, he whispered and then turning to Zorn he said, And they are not for you, sir dog.

Zorn snorted and turned away as if he had not been remotely interested in the bag he had been sniffing at all the way across the yard.

I am sorry that Korta is not here to see you off, Aid’n. Quinn glanced back at the inn. I think he is drowning his sorrows.

I shook my head sadly recalling the two settans I had spent in a drunken stupor following Meriq’s funeral. All he will drown is himself, Quinn. Sorrow floats.

Quinn nodded sagely. Nevertheless, the futility of drinking to numb the pain of lost love was something his son would have to learn for himself.

He does know I was not just using him, does he not Quinn?

Of course he does, Aid’n! Quinn seemed genuinely shocked that I should even entertain such a notion. And now that it is known he enjoys male company I am certain others will seek him out. I do wish them luck, however. From what Korta says the stories of Zetan endurance and prowess are no myth. But, he added with a wry smile, no matter how well-skilled they are, none of them will be you.

And of course, I do not find the fact that Korta discusses our bedroom activities with his father the slightest bit disturbing! I chuckled. I took Quinn’s outstretched hand and then pulled him to me in a fond embrace. Goodbye my friend. May the gods watch over you all.

As I passed through the town gates in the Northern Quarter a guard stepped out of the sentry box and put up his hand to stop me. Moments later Korta emerged from the same box. Did you think I would let you leave without even a farewell?

I thought you were in the tavern. Quinn said he thought you were…

Drowning my sorrows? Nothing is solved by drunkenness, he said as I dismounted. He threw his arms around my neck and kissed me hotly on the mouth. The guard coughed, went deep scarlet and looked away. I will move on from this, I promise, the cadet whispered. He took me by the shoulders and held me back from him. My beautiful warrior, Korta said softly cupping my jaw in his gauntleted hand. The talons of the armoured glove pricked the soft skin of my neck. I leaned my head against his hand and smoothed my hand through the rough waves of his raven hair. Pulling the miniature sword from his hair with his free hand he slid the pin deftly through the thick wool of my cloak next to the Consort’s Crest on my left shoulder. I will never forget you Aid’n Syrrith of Zetaria.

I put my hand over the pin as he began to walk away from me. Nor I you, Korta Bannen of Pésa. I called after him. Nor I you.

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Chapter 3 – One Alone

Ayin Dathahr

I RODE HARD for the next eight days as anxious to put as much distance between me and Pesa as possible as I was anxious to get to Zentaris before the slavers’ trail grew cold. I was certain that there would be any number of Zenti keen to point me in the right direction, especially if there was a chance I might get their children back for them; unless the information given me by the man in Quinn’s tavern was completely accurate and none survived the slavers’ attack. Yet even as I rode I found myself wondering what I would do when I caught up with my quarry. According to the reports there were at least twelve in the party, two of whom were magic users and, as Korta had pointed out, I was one alone.

One alone. One alone? A single, solitary fighter certainly. But I was not alone. I had Zorn and I had Vyrnath, both of whom were skilled in battle and neither of whom the Slavers would expect to join the attack. And I had Meriq’s armour. Yet even as I consoled myself with these thoughts I could not help but wish I had Meriq beside me – or even one of the Kyr-Garrin Elite.

As the evening drew in I stopped to let the animals drink at a small ox-bow mere and began to set camp collecting wood from the little stand of trees growing by the ox-bow. Thanks to Vyrnath’s fleetness of foot I had gained a great deal of ground and was now only about two day’s ride from Zentaris. I could afford an early night and a later start on the following morning.

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The song of the birds greeting the light filtered into my sleep followed almost at once by the aroma of Morlan spiced porridge. I frowned slightly. Meriq did not have the recipe. My mind cleared and came into proper focus as I remembered that Meriq was no longer with me. Kylos and Aenar were long gone and would be well on the way back to Zetaria. I sat up slowly, peering blearily into the dim light of the pre-dawn. A shadowy figure was sitting by my hearth stirring a small cauldron. I came instantly and fully awake and grabbed my sword. The figure turned and glanced at me then at my blade. He shrugged dismissively, picked up a bowl and began eating.

You are a hard man to track, Lord Consort, even for me, the kayet said, But you have grown careless. You should sleep as we always slept when on a mission.

Orrin?

The kayet moved to my side handing me the second bowl he was holding. He gave me a broad grin. At your service, my lord.

I glared at Zorn where he sat beside the assassin grunting contentedly as the man scratched him behind the ears. Some protector you are! I said reproachfully. The dog snorted at me dismissively as if he was telling me that he knew Orrin was no threat.

"What in Zoar’s name are you doing here?

The kayet laughed, I? Why, I am doing as I have always done; keeping you safe as you sleep, Lord Consort. But, he added, gesturing towards the other side of the hearth, you might wish to ask them the same question.

Faedron and Maegor raised their breakfast bowls to me laughing at what must have been my look of complete shock. Yes, I said when finally I found voice, "what are you doing here?"

Faedron set his bowl down shifting closer into Maegor’s side to escape the chill of the early morn. Did you think for one minute we would let you ride into danger alone? The young man demanded.

And more to the point, Maegor added, did you think we would let you take all the credit when the monster who created the Black Legion is finally felled?

And who would see to all the things you forget if not I? Polo appeared from the shadows of the little copse carrying an armful of firewood.

I shook my head as if to clear it. I must have slept more deeply than I realised. I had not heard the group arrive.

You were as a dead man, Lord Consort, Orrin told me, you should not ride so long without rest.

I do not! I said indignantly, "Alright,