Power's Wrath

By Stephen Shortall

The icy land of Screenia is plunged into disarray when its ruler is assassinated by a powerful unknown entity. Korin, the unwilling new king, wrestles with his own fears and desires, finding himself maneuvered into leading the kingdom into a counterattack he doesn’t support.

Only Calthus, an aging court advisor and sorcerer, knows th

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tote Publishing
• Release date: Oct 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9781999947408

Stephen Shortall

Stephen graduated from University College Cork with a degree in English and Psychology, followed by a masters in English. After a traumatic brain injury in 2014, writing became his priority, focusing on completing and publishing his first book. He is now working on the following books in the Hourglass Series.

Book preview

WORLD MAP

MAP OF SCREENIA AND BRANDOR

Contents

WORLD MAP

MAP OF SCREENIA AND BRANDOR

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 44

CHAPTER 45

CHAPTER 46

CHAPTER 47

CHAPTER 48

CHAPTER 49

CHAPTER 50

CHAPTER 51

CHAPTER 52

CHAPTER 53

CHAPTER 54

CHAPTER 55

CHAPTER 56

CHAPTER 57

CHAPTER 58

CHAPTER 59

CHAPTER 60

CHAPTER 61

CHAPTER 62

CHAPTER 63

CHAPTER 64

CHAPTER 65

CHAPTER 66

CHAPTER 67

CHAPTER 68

CHAPTER 69

CHAPTER 70

CHAPTER 71

CHAPTER 72

CHAPTER 73

CHAPTER 74

CHAPTER 75

CHAPTER 76

CHAPTER 77

CHAPTER 78

CHAPTER 79

CHAPTER 80

CHAPTER 81

CHAPTER 82

CHAPTER 83

CHAPTER 84

CHAPTER 85

CHAPTER 86

CHAPTER 87

CHAPTER 88

CHAPTER 89

CHAPTER 90

CHAPTER 91

CHAPTER 92

CHAPTER 93

CHAPTER 94

CHAPTER 95

CHAPTER 96

CHAPTER 97

CHAPTER 98

CHAPTER 99

CHAPTER 100

CHAPTER 101

CHAPTER 102

CHAPTER 103

CHAPTER 104

CHAPTER 105

CHAPTER 106

CHAPTER 107

CHAPTER 108

CHAPTER 109

CHAPTER 110

CHAPTER 111

CHAPTER 112

CHAPTER 113

CHAPTER 114

CHAPTER 115

CHAPTER 116

CHAPTER 117

CHAPTER 118

CHAPTER 119

CHAPTER 120

CHAPTER 121

PROLOGUE

The northern wind roared across its hollowed land, sweeping along the steep valleys that gave no pasture, flew across the barren plains as they awaited the birth of a spring which was still so far away, swirled by the squat cottages with their thick walls and thatched rooves, burrowed under the stout doors to ferret beneath the blankets, brushing against the cold and hungry flesh huddling against its piercing touch. Others swept further across the plains, down towards the level ground, whispering amid the rushes of the frozen rivers, stirring the dead leaves still clinging to the snow-covered limbs of stunted trees.

A larger cottage rose on the plain, the wind sweeping below its wide eaves, brushing against the larger windows, rattling the glass in the strong frames, streaming beneath the doors of the farm sheds, rustling the straw and the hay, glancing against the wool of the sheep, the course hides of the hirsute cattle. It twirled in the courtyard, the gusts fighting with the lightly falling snow, the flakes thrust to the unyielding hard ground, the winds blowing onwards. The constant whistling of the northern wind as it wove itself among everything it could touch, caused the people gathered outside the cottage to pull their futile clothes tighter. The winter light was dwindling, the solitary lantern casting a feeble light, so much left to the thickening darkness.

Baln squinted out into the yard and blew out his cheeks in anger. He was never told anything. Even the farmhands knew what was going on, but no one would inform him. That was usual, but he could always find things out. The staff would let things slip or he would sneak to where the answers lay. He couldn’t do either of those things now, though, held as he was by the hand.

He tugged on his mother’s skirt again, looking beseechingly up at her furrowed brow. She absentmindedly patted the hand she held, not sparing him a glance. She was worried and had been for a while now. She frowned a lot. Her eyes moving among the half-seen crowd arrayed in the circle outside, wary and alert, as were those she watched.

‘Why is father out there?’ he asked.

His mother only glanced down with a finger on her lip. He knew not to ask again.

A man sat on a horse in the centre of all the soldiers, but his father was standing on his own. Baln tried to move towards him, as his father would be able to tell him what was wrong, what he was doing out there. His mother squeezed his hand and glared down at him. Baln couldn’t go out there then, deciding it best not to argue. He had rarely seen his mother like this before.

Baln didn’t know the man on the horse, but he looked like a king. It was probably him. There was a man standing nearby and Baln knew him, as he had visited with his father many times lately. His father didn’t know, but Baln had been hiding in the room for one of these encounters and remembered the man’s words well, his tone, his accent. He was not from the north, as Baln was, but was from southern Screenia. He remembered their meeting well.

‘And so, all will return to normal?’ his father had asked in anger as he slammed his hand on the table.

‘No,’ Darin said, in the tone that his mother used when she wanted Baln to stop asking a question or persisting in a line of argument. ‘The king knows what was wrong in the north and will give you what is needed.’

‘Food? Coin?’ he asked.

‘Of course, Layn,’ Darin replied in the same tone. ‘We have food coming from Schornhold now, and from Venagoor. The king will also give coin so that you can make sure to feed your people next year as well.’

‘And we starve after that?’ his father asked.

‘No,’ Darin said, ‘a more permanent solution is needed, and that permanence comes from you. As Lord Margrum, you will appear at court with the other commanders. You can argue the case of your people and their poverty directly to the king. He is very eager to put right all that he has not noticed before. His people, your people, are in destitution, and it sickens him.’

‘Yet he fought me and killed those people for four years,’ his father said loudly.

Darin made a sound as he thought. ‘Indeed,’ he said, ‘I am sure you will see that it was necessary.’

‘Necessary?’ he roared. ‘It was necessary to slaughter families?’

‘You viewed it was necessary to begin the fight,’ Darin replied. ‘We would disagree.’

‘I went to the capital for years and paid my dues to have time with the king,’ his father said. ‘Each time he said he would do something, but nothing ever came. He knew we were starving, he knew well.’

‘There are many requests placed before the king,’ Darin replied softly.

‘There is another reason why you might be offering all this,’ his father said, and Baln could hear him smiling. ‘You can see that we are winning.’

‘The king does not like to see his people being killed, especially by their own,’ Darin replied smoothly. ‘He believes enough have died. He wants peace, Layn, as you do.’

‘I want justice,’ his father said, slamming his hand on the table again

Then there was silence.

‘And how far are you willing to go to get this justice?’ Darin asked. He seemed a little annoyed now. ‘Would you sacrifice your own people to get it, those who have laboured in your fields? Your own family? At what point would you say that it is enough?’

Silence again.

His father walked closer to the mounted man, the king. Darin was staring at Layn as all the others around were. They must be the other lords and ladies of the court, maybe soldiers. They looked angry, but some sneered. The ladies were there as well, with their colourful dresses. They must be how ladies dress in the south, as he had never seen his mother in anything like that before. They whispered to each other, as they stood in twos and threes, some laughing, all with their focus on his father.

‘Why are the ladies laughing, mama?’ he asked, looking up.

She frowned down at him but then grinned tiredly. ‘Because they won, dear,’ she said, ‘they won.’

‘What did they win?’ he asked with a frown. ‘Was there a game?’

She grinned softly at him and shook her head. ‘A game of sorts, dear.’

‘Do they get a prize?’ Baln asked.

He liked games and loved to get the trophies. He loved the days of sport his father used to hold, days where there would be running and throwing competitions for he and the other kids. People would come from all the towns around to join in.

His mother looked out into the yard again. ‘They got your father,’ she said in barely more than a whisper. She seemed so sad.

Darin was nodding at his father now and smiling. It seemed even loving, that smile. His father took a step closer to the king on his horse and, after a pause, he went down on one knee.

Baln didn’t know why.

The king smiled down, but Baln was not sure that he liked that smile. The king was happy, but not in a nice way. Baln looked around at the others gathered and he saw that they shared that smile. Cheers rose from amongst the men, though the women seemed to laugh harder.

They didn’t seem nice now, seemed mocking. He didn’t know why they would mock his father, as he was a nice man, the best of men. The king looked back at Layn and then his eyes moved behind him to Baln and his mother, standing in the doorway as they were. The smile didn’t change as he nodded to his mother. It became a sneer as the eyes fell on Baln, forcing him to draw behind his mother’s leg. It was the face of a bad man now.

The king dismounted and rushed to Layn with open arms.

‘Lord Margrum,’ he said loudly.

They all moved forwards then, all clapping. Darin seemed happiest, though he was quickly lost in the crowd.

Baln’s father should not be dealing with these people. They were not nice. Though they pretended to be friends, they hated him. They were not nice.

CHAPTER 1

Korin always appreciated the personal rooms of the king. Some nobles clung to the more modern high ceilings and the smooth walls, always covered in gilt and in friezes. The rooms of the king were so old that it seemed constructed by and for the cavemen. There was only a scattering of chairs, a rug to calm the walls. There weren’t even any candles, only the roaring fire banished the darkness, or at least kept it at bay. Klarnon’s father had preferred more light, but the son was quite different. The stout door and the thick walls kept the cold out and the warmth safely within. The only break in the defences against the northern cold was the single small window at the end of the room, kept sealed by the heavy drapes that were never drawn apart.

Korin did his job, as a lull in the conversation allowed, moving forwards on his chair to offer the king some more. Of course, the man nodded absently, returning quickly to his wistful stare into the fire. Korin filled his glass, doing the same with his own, then moving back to sit normally.

The man was Korin’s age and he was the stamp of his father, the protruding bones of the face, moving beyond handsome into the curious, verging on the ugly. The women of the court loved him though. It was amazing what being a king could do for one’s image and appeal. Of course, many of the men of court loved the man’s wife, and rumour had it that the woman returned the favour more often than was polite. Korin didn’t like such gossip. He was a little protective of Queen Kitra.

He swirled his kala, the finest that Screenia could offer, and it was good. Wool, kala, salted meats, all Screenian stalwarts that they sent out on the waves. Korin’s kind were warm, survived the winter on good meats, and were drunk in good measure. He closed his eyes to rest, but unfortunately the king took that moment to speak.

‘Do you recall?’ Klarnon asked, and then remembered he had not asked a question. ‘The war in the north.’

Korin frowned in a little confusion at the wistfulness that was still visible in the king. ‘It is a matter that is difficult to forget.’ He knew that the king would tell more.

‘We must have been only whelps at the time,’ he continued, throwing his eyes to the ceiling in disbelief.

‘Still with the wet nurse,’ Korin said with a smile and nod.

‘Yet there we were in the tent of my father,’ Klarnon said, a little surprised. ‘Your father there as well.’

‘Doing very different things,’ Korin said with a knowing look.

‘But they worked so well together,’ Klarnon countered, and Korin could not help but agree.

Korin remembered his father Darin well. He had been a great and quiet man, born with the perfect lineage that only a handful of the nobility shared. Not a natural soldier, preferring instead to be a talker, settling trade disputes, visiting with some of the most powerful in the land. He had been brought to the Imperial capital more than once and was welcomed by the emperor himself. Few Screenians had been in the capital, fewer still had been a close confidant of the emperor. Few even of the recent kings had been there, though in the old days many of the princes would be sent to squire, the princesses to wait on the empress. Those days were now long gone.

He remembered their time in the north during the rebellion, but only as children could. He recalled the fun, playing with wooden swords and chasing games amongst the other children of court. His father had men in the field, but he would spend more of his time counselling the king rather than being in the saddle himself. Many would count this as cowardice, but Korin knew better. Darin didn’t simply curry favour with the king but told him hard truths and would argue points with him. No others had the courage or the leave to do that. Korin was proud of his father, as he had likely saved many lives and countless months of fighting by his words.

It was he who had advised the king to make peace and to raise the leaders of the rebellion to nobility. It was a wonderful move. Yes, they had still argued in court for the rights of their people, but good food, good women and barrels of alcohol soon widened the waists and softened their tones. Some died childless and the lands were passed into the hands of the crown. Over the years, there came to be only one lord that remained a point of concern for the throne, and he now was the keeper of the city. Baln Margrum still had all the uncouth and barbarous natures of the north. Screenians were made hard by the cold in which they lived, or so the other nations believed, but the northern Screenians made the southerners look feeble. It was this strength that had prolonged the war for so long. No matter his northern routes and manner, Baln still wanted all the power that the capital could bring. Still, the brute bent the knee and paid his tithes. Korin still urged the king to not give the man more power, but also cautioned against taking away that which he already had. Baln knew that he thus interfered, and hated Korin as a result, just as he had hated Korin’s father in the past.

‘As we do,’ Korin said, raising a toast to the crown and to the man before him.

‘I remember there was a steward,’ he said in contemplation, not seeing the salute, ‘a man by the name of Kor. A good man and he had been with us from before I was born. He was set to keep us under control, or at the very least to keep us safe. He had the help of two of father’s bodyguards, but we gave them a good run.’

‘And I suffered as a result,’ Korin said with poorly-veiled irritation.

Klarnon nodded and gave him an apologetic look. The smile was still there though. Korin had been the prince’s whipping boy, and to little merit. If the prince was unruly, Korin would be the one to suffer the punishment at the hands of the prince’s keepers, in the poorly conceived belief that this would make the prince feel guilty at seeing his friend chastised, thus making him behave. Klarnon had not been a good child and had not been overly sorry when the retributions were meted out. The king had thrashed his son more than once, as his men could not, but these had scarcely more of an effect in changing Klarnon’s behaviour than had the scoldings taken by Korin on his behalf. Still, they had remained inseparable. Rather than making Korin resent the man, it had given him a strong moral character, one that he hoped he used to the king’s benefit. He was not sure he was always successful in aiding the king, but he would continue to try.

‘That was the war of our time,’ Klarnon said then, a little sadly.

‘I think that is a good thing,’ Korin replied with some hesitation.

‘I suppose it is,’ Klarnon said, considering his kala, ‘I suppose it is.’

‘Are you saying that you want a war?’ Korin asked.

He took a sip of kala and began to nod. ‘I don’t want the death and the honour, that which some are advocating,’ he said. ‘We saw enough of that in the north, but a king that needs not fight, that does not need to defend his people, and his kingdom, isn’t a true king.’

‘Many kings in Screenia’s past have served until death without leaving the castle,’ Korin said pointedly.

‘Oh, I know,’ Klarnon said. ‘But you must have heard the talk that has started.’

Korin nodded. ‘I have.’

He had hoped to quell it before it reached the king’s ears. Many were calling for the kingdom to march south and reclaim those lands it had lost decades before. There was some logic to the argument. Screenia had not been to war in a long time. The lack of warfare had allowed the coffers of the kingdom to swell. There was little doubt that the kingdom could scarcely be in a better position to go to war, than it already was. If they were to reclaim their lands in the south beyond the pass, then there was never going to be a better time to do so.

Korin didn’t give the logic any notice. It struck him as the pursuit of the wealthy, powerful and bored members of court. It was something to brag about to grandchildren, somewhere from which they could bring plunder. He aimed to put an end to the discussions on this matter in court before it grew any more. Baln was a major proponent, which made everything more troublesome. The north might always be ready for war, as many believed it was.

‘I wouldn’t give it much thought,’ Korin said. ‘These matters arise sometimes over the years. It always dies away. A child will be born, or someone will fall ill. Time will make it go away.’

‘I do hope you are correct,’ Klarnon said. ‘I have no desire to reclaim lands that I would then have to govern and defend. I have no one I need to gift advancement to.’

‘Too true,’ Korin nodded. ‘Leave it to me. I will deal with it.’

Korin wanted to invade the Kingdom of Waldon even less so than did the king. He was not sure what he would do to manage it. Palrik was always of use in these matters. The son of a brewer, the man was always eager to please, and seemed to be welcomed by all the court. Ardu, Korin’s own attendant, would have thoughts on the matter. Now he needed to move the conversation along.

‘I hear that Madam Velure has brought a few new beauties to her fold,’ he said with a knowing smile.

‘Is that so?’ Klarnon asked, returning Korin’s smile, perking up a little.

‘I will, upon my next visit,’ Korin replied, ‘urge her to pay due tithes to the good and honourable king.’

‘It is important that she does pay her dues,’ Klarnon said, feigning seriousness.

‘Not a wealthy woman though, the madam,’ Korin said, with a grave look.

‘Hopefully we can come to some arrangement,’ the king replied.

‘You are clearly a very kind man,’ Korin replied, raising his kala in salute and chuckling softly.

‘I live but to serve,’ the king replied, this time returning the toast.

Korin nodded. The man might be flaccid and glutinous, but he was not too foolish to be considered, by court, a bad king. The fact that there had been no war or revolts during his reign meant a great deal. He was a gregarious man, well liked. Korin felt hopeful that they would have long peaceful lives ahead.

CHAPTER 2

Amid the rustling of the fire and the silence of their thoughts, there came a soft noise. The room was so sturdy and made of such a mass of rock that there were no mice. Yet, he heard a scratching from behind. It was small, small enough to be forgotten, but Korin turned and looked into the darkness. There was nothing to be seen, but for some reason he gave it greater scrutiny than usual. He sensed something looking back at him but didn’t know if he should warn the king. Deciding it best to leave the king be, since the only proof he had was a feeling, he forced himself to turn back to the fire. However, the sensation of being watched ghosted across his shoulders, making his skin scrawl.

The door would have creaked in opening, meaning that if something was in the room, then it had entered with them some time ago. It could have been there before they arrived. If there was something present that planned to do them ill, Korin wondered what would make it wait so long. It could simply be listening, he hoped. It might not be an assassin, but of this he was not so hopeful. He needed to force the man or woman to move, but not before he could defend the king. He needed to stand and try to bring some more light to bear on the room at the same time.

‘I believe I must make for my bed,’ Korin said, apologetically.

Klarnon was surprised. Frequently they would speak until dawn, drinking and reminiscing until tiredness affected even the king.

‘It’s far too early yet,’ Klarnon said. ‘You will stay at least a while longer.’

Korin heard another movement, and this time he believed the king did as well, seeing him turn in its direction with a frown. Korin could not wait any longer and pushed himself to his feet with the arm of the soft chair, throwing the kala into the fire. The king called out in confusion as the flames rose suddenly. Their companion rose as well from the shadows, its shape forcing Korin to stop and take a moment, the half-light of the fire not helping in his analysis of the possible would-be assassin.

Korin had expected an assassin of battered aspect, small but lithe, muscled but slim. What confronted him passively was something quite different. Firstly, he could not make out if it was a man or a woman, its face and body suggesting neither one nor the other. It was slim, yes, but not so tall as to only be a man. Its hair was cut short, but for some reason this did not place it in the camp of men. There were no visible muscles, a physique more common amongst the scholars and the Loremasters in the library. It didn’t move forward and seemed unflustered at having been discovered. Korin believed he could take the man or woman easily, but something held him back, made him wary. He sensed the creature’s appearance belied its power.

Klarnon was beside him now and he could feel the king’s indignation.

‘Guards,’ he roared, loud enough to be heard through the stout door.

‘I do apologise, your majesty,’ the creature said softly and with what seemed sincere remorse, ‘but your guards will not be able to help.’ It pursed its lips in sympathy.

The king spluttered and reached for words but Korin restrained him by touching him with the back of his hand on the chest. He knew not to take his eyes off the creature.

‘What are you?’ he asked softly. Some might think of more pertinent questions to ask, but this was the most pressing, and might answer so many of the others that came to mind.

‘Ah,’ the creature said, smiling warmly at Korin, ‘your reputation is validated.’ He nodded and frowned in thought. ‘I am unknown.’

‘Unknown?’ Korin asked. It made no sense.

‘I am not yet defined,’ the creature said, in a tone that was not expecting further questioning.

Korin knew that time for questions wouldn’t last forever. ‘What do you want?’

The creature smiled again, but with another apologetic expression. ‘The more obvious question, but you were right to assume it isn’t the most pressing.’ He took a moment more to give Korin a sympathetic look, only half visible in the light from the fire. ‘The king,’ he said at last. ‘The current one,’ as if there was clarification needed.

Korin moved in front of Klarnon, the sound of the guards outside trying to open the door growing more frantic.

‘Who sent you?’ Korin asked.

‘I am sorry, Lord Deldalum,’ it replied, again with all the look of sincerity, ‘but I will be unable to answer that.’

‘Yes, you will,’ Korin replied as he brushed his coat back and placed a hand on his dagger.

The man looked at him sadly. ‘You discovered me a little early,’ it said. ‘A little ahead of time, as the phrase goes, but not so early as to give us much time to converse. I hope we will meet again, and that we have more time to speak then.’ The creature simply joined his hands at his waist and shrugged.

Korin stepped forwards, not knowing what else to do, and even though the creature didn’t draw a weapon, it gained the advantage quickly. He closed the distance to Korin in a heartbeat, striking his hand in such a way that the knife clanked to the floor and slid away. He was only a hand’s width from the creature now, and once again the expression apologised. Korin swung a fist but the creature, without needing to think, caught the arm in flight with its own forearm, drove the air from Korin’s lungs with a punch in the stomach, caught him by the neck and, with a strength that his physique belied, threw Korin against the wall, leaving him to fall limply to the floor.

Korin was disorientated, and the room swam, but he pushed himself over, looking to the king who lay flat on his back. The creature now hunkered over him.

‘I am terribly sorry to disturb your night, your majesty,’ it said.

‘Stop,’ Korin said weakly, trying feebly to move towards them both.

The creature didn’t pay heed to Korin’s words. He heard cloth tearing and the gasps of the king. He could see him trying to struggle against the hand that kept him on the floor, but the creature seemed unmovable.

As Korin dragged himself across the floor, the king turned his head towards him, his eyes calling out for help, pleading, but Korin could not offer anything in reply but a pained expression. The man then looked back up at the creature with shock. Korin saw his chest writhe for a moment with pain blossoming on his face. The head rolled to the side and he looked at Korin once more. A stillness that only death could bring came to Klarnon’s eyes.

The creature stood with a sigh, allowing Korin to see the dagger protruding from the king’s heart, blood covering his bared chest. The creature then looked to Korin with some surprise.

‘How very rude of me,’ it said, ‘forgetting about you.’

Korin’s body was awash with pain, every tentative movement making him gasp.

‘You bastard,’ he said bitterly, not knowing what else he could do.

‘A nice man, by all accounts,’ the creature said sadly, looking down at the king. ‘Yet these are the way of things.’

It hunkered down in front of Korin, its kind face sickening to behold.

‘Fear not, my lord,’ it said softly. ‘You are to live.’

He patted Korin’s cheek and then sent him to unconsciousness with a strike across the face.

CHAPTER 3

Brehan yearned for her and could scarcely restrain himself, his knees felt weak and he gave even more of his weight to the corner against which he leaned. He knew he should pay more attention to those who might be passing, but he didn’t care.

Salusa tried not to laugh and looked up at him with what he saw as hungry eyes, twisting a dishcloth in her hands.

‘Later?’ he asked.

The noise from the kitchen flooded down the narrow dark corridor. A person swept by, making a disapproving grunt. Salusa looked after him, a man a little older than Brehan. It lessened her smile.

‘I have to get back,’ she said. ‘Cook might punish me.’

‘Tell her I’ll defend you with my life,’ he said, making a flourish away from the wall, drawing himself even taller, then bowing deeply.

Her smile returned. Brehan took a large step to draw close to her, wrapping one arm around her waist, the other hand placed against her upper back. She drew her arms up to his chest, drawing away as much as his arms would allow.’

‘Stop,’ she whispered, looking up into his eyes. There was no force in her words.

He had kissed many women before, but he still hesitated here. She might refuse, she might not like it. Haltingly, he reached down, gently touching her lips with his own. His heart sored as she replied in kind and he wrapped her in tighter arms, she moulding her body to his. It was wonderful, but then she drew away. Brehan knew to let her go. She straightened her clothes and took a step back, regarding him timidly.

‘Goodbye,’ she said, in a manner that told him she was not pleased.

Perhaps he had done something wrong, though hopefully she had not been hurt or abused. In stark contrast with his soaring mood moments before, he was now pained with a guilt, though unsure why.

She lingered at the door of the kitchen and leaned against the jam, bowing her head as if in thought. She began to shudder, he assumed on the brink of tears. He hastened to her, but she turned after he had taken only two steps. Instead of a tearful expression, her face was awash with a smile, the movements those of laughter. She waved, spun into the kitchen and was gone.

Brehan looked after the space she had just occupied. It was a void, a dimming of the sun at noon, the removal of a goblet of water from a thirsty man’s hand. He could not help but smile. She was well, and she liked him still. He had known her for months now and that kiss had been coming all that time.

He twirled as in a dance, colliding in his joy with one of the servants who was hurrying by. Thankfully, the man had only linen clutched to him, so no damage was done. At first the servant was furious, but then he saw Brehan’s uniform. He inclined his head with a mumbled apology and moved on. Brehan smiled as he watched him go. The man may have bowed deeper if he had known that the man into whom he had walked was the son of a duke.

Brehan moved off down the corridor and took the first stairs he found to the ground floor. Here there was more sunlight and a greater amount of activity. These were the servants’ areas and liveried men and women moved swiftly to and fro. Brehan drew back at the top of the stair to allow a tray-bearing woman to pass then joined the flow of traffic. He recognised some of the faces, but he didn’t know any names. Weaving this way and that, he made his way out of the busiest section.

‘Ardu,’ he shouted down the hall with a wave.

Captain Willem Ardu frowned at Brehan from his conversation with a servant. He didn’t seem happy at first but closed the leather folder on his forearm, then held it at his hip in readiness. As Brehan approached he dismissed the servant with a gesture.

‘As Idle as ever, I see,’ Ardu said. There was good-natured mockery in the statement, but also a cutting jibe.

‘We all must bear what fate decides,’ Brehan said with exaggerated seriousness.

‘Indeed we must,’ Ardu said tiredly as he moved off, allowing Brehan to fall in beside him.

Such repartee was familiar. They had served in the army together, but Ardu was also from his father’s lands, so they had crossed paths in childhood.

‘What has you so happy?’ he asked, deftly sweeping out of the way to allow a hurrying runner to pass by.

Brehan just smiled, not sure what to say, or if he should say anything at all. If he gave it voice it might cease to be.

‘Salusa?’ Ardu asked, knowing well what the answer would be. ‘Well, it’s about time. I hope you don’t father a child though.’

Brehan was shocked at this and drew Ardu to a halt, grasping his forearm.

‘I wouldn’t do such a thing,’ Brehan said, surprised at his own offence. He had spent a good deal of time thinking of little other than the act, but to hear it spoken seemed to cheapen it, and the woman along with it. ‘We simply kissed.’

Ardu frowned, scrutinising Brehan’s expression, perhaps seeking mirth. He drew away then and continued their walk, pursing his lips in thoughtful surprise.

‘I see,’ was all he said.

Little else was needed.

‘Busy on my father’s business?’ Brehan asked, eager to not cheapen his love for Salusa further.

‘As ever,’ Ardu replied.

Though he acted as if he was greatly beleaguered by his service to Korin Deldalum, Brehan’s father, Ardu enjoyed his job. He had proven himself an incredibly able aide over the years, organising Korin’s life with precision.

‘I was surprised to see you here,’ Brehan said.

‘I’m surprised to be here,’ Ardu replied.

‘Does the king need to be put to bed?’ Brehan asked. He always thought that Korin acted as the king’s nursemaid.

Ardu favoured him with a brief smile. ‘Oh, something like that,’ Ardu said, taking a right-hand turn.

As a captain of the king’s guard, Brehan was always in the capital but he was surprised whenever he saw his father arrive there. This suited Brehan wonderfully, as Schornhold offered distractions that the countryside did not. To his father though, the estates and their grounds were far more attractive. Korin liked nothing more than tending his gardens. Screenia’s climate didn’t allow for breath-taking garden-scapes, but Korin manicured them all the same. It was rare that he stayed in the capital this long.

‘When will you be leaving?’ Brehan asked.

‘Tomorrow, or so his lord believes,’ Ardu replied.

‘Is he with the king now?’ Brehan said quickly, seeing his turn ahead.

‘Yes,’ Ardu said, ‘I believe so.’

‘Wonderful, I might see him so,’ and with that he took his leave and waved to his friend.

Ardu disappeared, slowly shaking his head, though with a wry smile.

CHAPTER 4

Brehan didn’t have far to go. He was a little early and didn’t have to move too quickly through the guards’ room, having time to share comments with his colleagues as he passed. More than one referenced his smile, but to them he didn’t reveal the cause.

‘Ah,’ he said with a wider smile, ‘you look like a tired man.’

Vin sat up from cradling his face in his hands. ‘Tired,’ he said nodding. ‘But bored as well.’

‘One rarely helps the other,’ Brehan agreed as he hung up his coat, trying to hide his good humour from the man.

The noise in the room was exhausting. It stifled conversation and he thought better than to force Vin to speak. He needed his bed, though Brehan could not remember if that bed would be empty or not. The man’s wife had ‘gone away’ for some time. He had known not to ask too many questions, and this day he didn’t think differently.

He took two men to the quarters of the king and relieved the three men that were seated there. They didn’t seem too unhappy to surrender their post and didn’t give reports of anything more interesting than the scratching of the mice and the scurrying of the servants. Both these constant inhabitants of the castle were equally unobtrusive in how they moved.

Brehan took a quick passage around the corridors and then sat down with the two men, stretching out his legs and crossing his arms. The two soldiers were barely more than boys. They were nice though and could hold a conversation. He was not always so lucky. Sometimes there was no fun to be had, no stories to be told. Even when he ordered guards to talk, as he had been forced to do more than once, the result wouldn’t usually be abundantly interesting.

The thin whelp was a farmer’s son. He was the youngest and so the land wouldn’t be able to support him as well as his many brothers, most of whom still laboured the soil. This was frequently the way when it concerned the country folk who came in to join the standing army of the capital and of the king. It was not a bad life and it lasted. Life on the plains was a terribly difficult one, always teetering on the edge of hunger and illness. They achieved better lives in the capital. They were simple people and good. Though maybe not as tough as the city folk, they were usually wonderful additions to his team and those of the other captains.

Brehan’s other companion was a city lad and had the arrogance that came with it. He was wilier and less willing to speak. Still, it was easy for the other two to draw him out and get him to speak at length. His father was a baker in the castle and his mother a cleaner. In many ways, the sedentary life of a guard was a much easier job than those his parents held. Yes, the troops all gave their lives to the king and the kingdom, but it had been some time since the guards of the castle had ridden out to fight for the king.

They were seated beside windows that lined the length of the corridor. Brehan had his back to the door of the king’s private sitting room and looked out at the sky as it went through the last phases of dusk into the night. These windows overlooked the harbour. It could be a lovely view to be gifted during a day standing guard. It was no bad thing to watch the ships arriving, the to-ing and fro-ing of cargo and crew. Schornhold harbour was not one of the major trading areas of the empire. Few leisurely passengers would venture north. Most of the ships were of merchants who came to buy wool, kala, and salted pork. Venagoor in the east, on the Great River Spine, was the route most products from the outside were taken in to Screenia, crossing the country to the capital. The harbour was busy nonetheless.

Now that winter was beginning to settle on Screenia once more, the harbour had grown incredibly quiet. There were few merchants who would take to the waters along the western coast at this time of year. Brehan knew that if the time of the day was different, he would look down on a harbour filled with ships that were fastened and secured against the weather, their owners wintering in Screenia. It was so isolated in the north west that he often wondered what criminals owned those boats. No law enforcer would bother them here, not even in the heights of summer.

Today though he would see only darkness. He didn’t mind. As night grew, a comely servant arrived to light the tallow candles in their sconces along the wall, bringing them beer and some food. She gave him what he took to be alluring eyes, ignoring the lustful looks of