Once a Slayer: The Company of Slayers, #2

By Justin Waine

Marriage and War

The Company of Slayers has escaped slavery and scheming enemies, gaining wealth and status in the process. Now real power beckons as one of their number, the warrior Balinor, is to marry Ascrina Strabo, next in line to the throne of Kangorn, just as her grandfather, the current prince, is ailing and treacherous forces are plotting to seize the Rock for themselves.

Yet there is no time to celebrate, for war has come to the West. Temple Knights lead an army of the faithful to besiege the fortress city of Las Ma. For the Slayers, in the tumult of conflict, there are deals to be done and money to be made.

But war is unpredictable. Enemies, both obvious and unforeseen, prepare to destroy the upstart Slayers. Noble houses, merchant companies and imperial agents all know one thing. Kangorn has never seen an uncontested succession.

As plot clashes with conspiracy, old loyalties will be stretched to breaking point ­– and maybe the Company itself will not survive this test.

Book 2 in The Company of Slayers Series

• Language: English
• Publisher: Epsom Fantasy Press Limited
• Release date: Mar 15, 2024
• ISBN: 9781739180720

Justin Waine

Justin Waine has been writing fantasy novels for almost as long as he has been reading them. Having spent the last two decades working in the investment industry he decided he really should get around to publishing some of them. He is the author of The Company of Slayers series and the forthcoming Kylnnar War Saga. When not writing he spends his time training and teaching martial arts.

Book preview

Chapter One – A Wedding

The young woman pushed through the largely good-natured crowd that milled around her. Shouts and claps filled the air. She could hear a group of street musicians busking off in the distance. Ahead she could see the wide-open semicircle that she was aiming for. A ring of guards, both male and female, had cleared the area and were doing their best to avoid losing space to the pushing and shoving of the boisterous people. The girl reached the ring of soldiers after elbowing one particularly excitable man in the ribs. A look of recognition, crossed with a hint of fear, ran across the guardsman’s face and he let her pass into the protected area.

Others were emerging from the crowd. They were dressed splendidly for the royal wedding: the first the port city of Kangorn had seen in nearly two decades. They were the great and the good of the city on the Rock. Merchants from the great companies, the House Caldric and the Company de Troville, were present, but also the wealthier of the local traders and dealers. There were foreign dignitaries here, including the representative of the Nerlinean Imperial Fleet, effectively the ambassador of the great Nerlinean Empire. Most importantly, certainly for the crowd, who came to gawk at their rulers, were the Lords and Ladies of Kangorn, the twenty ruling nobles who made up the city’s elite. They were dressed in all their finery, including polished weapons and armour.

The young woman’s appearance was somewhat incongruous by comparison. She was young, late teens or early twenties, with soft white skin that contrasted with the black of her clothing. Her long hair was the colour of midnight, reaching almost to her waist. She wore it loose and fluttering in the light breeze, not constrained in neat and complex braids like the rest of the female guests. She was peculiarly dressed in a silk skirt slit almost to the waist on both sides. Around her breasts and shoulders was wrapped a further strip of silk that barely concealed her chest.

The few who noticed her either dismissed her as a worker from the Street of the Dancers or they knew her and her reputation. Both groups refused to meet her eyes. She felt a touch of sadness at that but dismissed it. Most present were too interested in their own business to bother with her. For while the streets of Kangorn were thronged by citizens enjoying the happy day, the emotions of the city’s rulers ranged from confusion to outrage.

The woman in the black silks strode across the open area. Above her yawned the entrance to the stone-built Temple of Lynidine, the Kanath goddess of the earth and oceans. She was still worshipped here on the Isle of Kangorn, one of the final places where her faith persisted. Elsewhere, the Sevain conquests had largely done for the old faith of the Kanath. Even now, their armies battered against the walls of Las Ma, the capital of the eponymous dukedom, the last remnant of the Kanath High Kingdom that had once dominated the lands of the West.

The woman skipped up the grey stone steps that led to the temple’s brass-banded wooden doors. They were framed by four columns, clearly later additions to the original circular church, done in the Nerlinean style: a melding of architectures and cultures common on Kangorn. Seeing the fey young woman moving assuredly up the steps, the guardsman by the door rolled his eyes at his colleague and stepped forward with his sword hand out to block her path.

The woman assessed him, a hint of a smile playing across her lips. The soldier’s previously cheerful face clouded with a mixture of distaste and annoyance. He now loomed over her, grim-faced and hulking. She noted his shining chainmail armour and wondered how much of the previous day he had spent polishing it. He wore the tabard of the Prince’s Guard: an argent griffin rampant on a blue field. She knew his position; he did not know hers. She could read the thoughts on his judgemental face as easily as she could devour a set of accounts. She should not be here; she was not a guest. She had seen the polite deferential manner he had taken with others.

Is there a problem? she enquired politely, an amused look in her eye.

The soldier, confident that the woman in front of him should be off somewhere taking coin for her services, not attending a royal wedding, gave a mental sigh. She was going to be difficult; he had hoped stopping her would be sufficient to dissuade her. He cursed the slackness of his colleagues in letting her get this far. He had strict orders from his commander, Captain Hanath, to not make any fuss should some of the more brazen of Kangorn’s people try and get into the wedding. It was supposed to be a celebration, after all. Besides, big crowds could turn nasty if given an excuse. Lost in his own arrogance, he made no attempt to ask her name or check it against the guest list on the scroll furled under his other arm.

Lady Dryana, came a voice.

The guard looked past the slight girl to see Lord Danzian Corinmount striding up the steps of the temple. He was dressed in the traditional manner of a Lord-Captain of Kangorn, wearing a long seafarer’s cloak despite the warm early summer weather and a large floppy hat designed to conceal his face from the sun. A jaunty pink feather was thrust into the hat band. Beneath his cloak he was neatly dressed in expensively cut breeches and shirt, and a beautifully made sabre hung from his waist.

The guardsman seriously doubted that he knew how to use it: the man was a banker, not a warrior. He gave a polite shallow bow to Lord Corinmount. The Corinmounts were the newest of the twenty noble families of Kangorn, being invested with the lordship only a little over a year ago. Kangorn had a strict rule that there could be only twenty lords in addition to the prince himself. The Corinmounts had replaced the Pandus family, who had been driven from the Rock. They were also the one of the richest families in Kangorn – some said the richest – at least since the fall of the western branch of House Pandus. They were bankers to the Prince of Kangorn, half the nobility and to several of the great trading companies. If this girl was a friend of Lord Corinmount, it would be best to let her in.

Please go in, he said to the pair with a slightly reluctant wave of his hand.

The woman fixed him with a pixie-like smile of victory; she hoped he found it particularly annoying.

He watched the pair disappear through the doors and had to admit there was something attractive as well as disconcerting about the young woman. Captain Tallyn Hanath appeared in his peripheral vision and the guard turned to face her. The Gar captain of the Prince’s Guard loomed over him. She was six and a half feet in height, but thin. She was dressed in light silvery metal armour with a thin rapier at her side. She had pale, almost translucent, skin and blonde, almost white, hair. Her eyes were a piercing amber colour, while her long, pointed lobeless ears confirmed her non-human heritage. Her ageless features were symptomatic of her Gar blood. The captain had served the Princes of Kangorn for decades.

Was there a problem? demanded his commander in her singsong voice.

No, ma’am, he replied. I wasn’t sure who the woman was, but Lord Corinmount vouched for her. I am guessing she is his entertainment for the wedding. He said the last with a slight leer, though in truth he was not a big believer in relationships of the paid temporary sort.

That was Dryana Slayer, replied Tallyn.

The necromancer?

The captain replied with a single nod.

Blood drained from the guard’s face, and he licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. Everyone knew the Slayers, the merchant trading company and the rulers of the Isles of Syndion, but he also knew of the more terrifying tales swapped in taverns. The stories about Dryana Slayer were that she could raise the dead. He swallowed down the bile rising in his throat and went back to his work.

Tallyn Hanath watched him go with a look of detached amusement.

Dryana skipped into the Temple of Lynidine, young for her years, trailing the taller, striding form of Danzian Corinmount. The temple spread out before them, a mass of dark grey stone arranged in a solid circular wall some thirty feet high. It had no windows or doors except the one through which they had entered. It was not dark however, as the temple had no roof and the sun shone across its flagstone floor.

In the centre was a large square altar block, about five foot square. It was engraved with what appeared to be Gar sigils, obscured by moss and lichen. Both the Nerlineans and those Kanath who still followed the old gods were fond of the script of the ancient Gar, as if it conferred some sort of magic on their religious proceedings. The Nerlineans particularly adhered to it, their gods largely sharing the same names as those of the Gar.

The wedding guests stood in groups surrounding the altar stone, discussing business or simply gossiping. Dryana picked out various human races. Her own people, the Kanath pale of skin, but dark of hair and eye. The Sevains, their conquerors and now rulers of the lands to the west, blonde-haired and blue-eyed. Then there were the Nerlineans: those from the empire’s near coast had light brown skin and black hair, but there were also easterners present, with complexions the yellow of dried barley and their dark hair tied high in topknots. The Nerlineans were no longer so much a people as a multi-ethnic empire – an empire that on occasion made its own claims to overlordship of Kangorn. Then there were those of a mixture of origins; Kangorn was nothing if not a melting pot.

There were non-humans too. She saw the brawny mass of the Mourn ambassador, seven feet tall with skin the colour and texture of rough brown leather, a mop of lank black hair cresting his head. She scanned the room looking for the equally large form of the lizard-like Samath ambassador. She smiled to herself noting that he was not present. The Samath were still smarting from the destruction of their fleet by the Slayers at the Isles of Syndion. It had been nearly a year since the battle, but they seemed not to have put it behind them, she mused. They had of course been invited. It would have been impolite not to.

Dryana picked out the figure she had been looking for. He was six feet in height, emaciated, with skin like dry parchment and long grey hair pulled back tightly behind his head in a ponytail. His yellowed teeth gave him a terrifying leer as the Tancree spoke with a group of humans. Slinker Ryback, once a member of his people’s ruling council, was now a partner of the Company of Slayers. He was dressed in a light silk shirt dyed a deep purple and a pair of black cloth trousers. A sabre hung from his left side. Dryana knew while perfectly usable, the sword was for show; Slinker preferred to fight with traditional Tancree fighting blades. She was surprised that he could be persuaded to leave the trading house without them. Not that such weapons were appropriate at a wedding.

Dryana skipped over to him and, reaching up on tiptoe, planted a kiss on his cheek. He swung round, a look of shock on his face that broke into a smile when his eyes rested on the dark-haired girl.

When did you get to Kangorn? he asked, wrapping her in a bony hug.

My ship arrived this morning, just in time for the wedding, she replied.

No Sali? No Kyrian? he enquired after two of their partners in the Company of the Slayers.

Sali is busy somewhere and Kyrian is up to something in the west, declared Dryana. Where is the groom?

Slinker noted Dryana’s ambiguous response. It was not in keeping with her normally precise manner, at least in matters of business. She was obviously concerned with who might be listening.

I haven’t seen Balinor yet, Slinker replied. He’s been holed up in his father’s mansion preparing for this.

Balinor Slayer, whose wedding was about to take place, was the last of the five partners in the Company of Slayers. He had also, through the Slayers’ machinations, become an heir to one of the noble families of Kangorn. In an agreement between the Company of Slayers and the Prince of Kangorn, the Lord Anrilan Lornar had been obliged to adopt Balinor as his son and heir. Lord Anrilan had proved more than happy with the arrangement, finding his new wealthy adopted son adept at dealing with his pressing debts. His family and particularly his nephew, who until Balinor’s adoption had been the heir to House Lornar, were considerably less happy. Such an arrangement was unusual in the West, where blood relationship was what mattered. Due to its history, Kangorn followed the legal traditions of the Nerlinean Empire, where such adoptions were much more common.

Does he arrive first or does the bride? asked Dryana.

No idea, chuckled Slinker. I am not up on Kangorn marriage customs. I’m not sure if they follow the Nerlinean or Kanath traditions or do something different entirely. It’s a Kanath temple, so maybe their ways.

Dryana, a Kanath herself by blood, had been brought up under the strict religious rule of Sevain overlords, who forbade the old pagan gods, so she had no idea either. Her mother had taught her much of the old ways, but marriage traditions had not been one of the areas covered.

Meanwhile Slinker was quietly wondering if the wedding might still not happen, for Ascrina Strabo, Princess of Kangorn and only heir to the throne of the city of Kangorn, had been pursued by suitors from both the Rock and across the west. When her elderly grandfather died, she would be the last of the Strabo family that had ruled the island city since the pirate Prince Kangorn had founded it two hundred years ago. Her grandfather had been hugely reluctant to see his granddaughter married. Antonnin Pandus had been expected to marry her a year ago – a political and economic match, and the pair had not known each other well. The Company of Slayers had accidently stopped that when they killed him. The Prince of Kangorn had not seemed overly upset; instead he had used the noble House de Havilland and the Slayers to drive the Pandus from the Rock.

The de Havillands then had cemented their position as the most powerful family on the Rock after the Strabos, something for which they had previously vied with the Pandus family. Lord Jon de Havilland, the wily ruler of his family, had not expected Prince Karden to be grateful; he knew the old man too well for that. Karden’s paranoia about the Pandus family had transferred to House de Havilland. To Jon, it was obvious that Ascrina should be marrying his own son Will to finally unite the lines of the two most powerful families on the island. Instead, Karden had betrothed his granddaughter to Balinor, a nobody whose own nobility was a matter of legal trickery. Jon de Havilland and his family were at the temple now, outwardly appearing to enjoy the events while inwardly seething.

Well, here’s the groom, replied Dryana. So that answers one question.

Balinor appeared as a dark silhouette framed in the temple entrance by the bright sunlight behind him. He walked into the temple to the cheers of the onlookers both outside and within. Several of the wedding guests stepped forward to pat him on the back and wish him luck. Like all men about to be married down the ages, Balinor wondered why this was: he would learn soon enough.

He was dressed like Danzian Corinmount in the clothes of a ship’s captain, the traditional dress of a Lord of Kangorn. It reflected the history of the original twenty lords, who had been pirate captains. With their admiral, Kangorn, they had founded the city that now bore his name. Balinor wore a long grey cloak of dyed huffrin leather over a silk shirt and light brown breeches. A wide-brimmed black hat rested jauntily askew on his head, a large yellow feather pushed firmly in the hat band.

He was accompanied by Lord Anrilan Lornar, his adopted father, and by Lord Anrilan’s nephew, Lord Kai Lornar. They were dressed in similar fashion to Balinor, as were the many Lords and Ladies of Kangorn and their families present in the temple. Not all the Lords and Ladies of the noble houses had attended, but sixteen of the twenty had made it; an impressive turnout for such an event.

Dryana was surprised how handsome the normally nondescript Balinor looked. He was one of the few who did not look faintly ridiculous dressed as he was. She also noted the beaming happiness on Lord Anrilan’s face, whereas Kai looked like he was chewing on stinging insects. Dryana could understand Lord Anrilan’s delight; it was not often that your son, albeit your adopted son, married the granddaughter and heir presumptive of the Prince of Kangorn.

Balinor took up position behind the altar facing towards the door, flanked by his adopted family. Dryana and Slinker, who were probably closer to being Balinor’s real family, stood behind them. The groom and his party watched as the priests and priestesses of Lynidine entered the temple. There were four of them, two male, two female, dressed in long purple robes held at the waist with golden cords. They were older, all in their early sixties but still youthful and confident in their movements. The men wore long beards that were grey turning to white, braided with leather clasps. The women wore their hair long and loose, flowing down their backs in waves past their waists. Clasped in their hands were staves of uneven wood faded and polished bone-white by decades of use.

The four faced each other on either side of the altar, flanking Balinor. They exchanged nods, and a second later the end of four staves crashed down on the flagstone floors. The thunderous sound resonated around the circular walls of the temple before seeming to spiral upwards into the open air. The crowd were silenced. They drew around the altar, watching the four priests at work. They now started lightly tapping their staves against the floor; amplified by the acoustic of the temple it became a low rumble.

A great rolling cheer arose from the crowd outside and flowed towards the entrance. As it reached a crescendo the bride appeared in the doorway. A matching cheer arose from those gathered in the temple, far louder than the one they had given Balinor. Ascrina, Princess of Kangorn, stood before them in a silk dress of deepest blue, low cut, but ankle-length. A crown of fresh flowers, a riot of blues and yellows, rested on her head. In the year since Dryana had last seen the princess, she had grown from a gawky if pretty teenager into a captivating young woman. She had filled out in all the right places, thought Dryana, fighting down a feeling of jealousy.

Ascrina was a beautiful woman, slim and petite, with high cheekbones and a small nose. Her eyes were the same sparkling chocolate brown that Dryana remembered, and her skin was tanned to a healthy brown. Her long black hair, tied in a series of complicated braids, hung down her back to just above her waist. Her face was lit up with a beaming smile.

She strode down the steps, revealing brown knee-high boots through the splits in her long dress. Her feet clacked against the stone surface. She might have been a princess and a beauty, but Ascrina was at heart a seafarer. The crowd parted to allow her to walk towards the altar, the nobility of Kangorn giving head bows as she passed them.

All eyes were on the bride, so few noticed the arrival of Karden, the ruling Prince of Kangorn. Dryana saw him, though, and she was amazed by how much he had aged in the last year. She remembered him as a grizzled old warrior with tanned skin and a bulky frame. Now he just seemed old, his skin pallid, his body shrunken. He was dressed like the other Lords of Kangorn, but with a gold circlet on his brow instead of a hat. His cloak was a deep purple and lined with a white fur collar. His handed rested lightly on the shoulder of his chief adviser, Chancellor Boran, a tall middle-aged man with hang-dog features and salt and pepper grey hair, dressed in long blue robes tied with a sword belt. A short sword hung from his belt and a weighty gold chain of office encircled his neck.

The priests made waist-deep bows to the prince followed by the rest of the guests. Even Princess Ascrina bowed deeply to her grandfather. A large high-backed wooden chair appeared, brought by two burly servants. The prince took his seat, positioned a respectful distance from the altar. The others clustered around the altar in a tight circle.

The actual marriage service was a quick affair. The priests muttered a form of words over the bowed heads of the couple. To Dryana they sounded like Old High Nerlinean, but her knowledge of that language was limited, and she could not identify the meaning of any of the words. The officiating clergy switched to Westerly, the trade tongue, which was used by most people on Kangorn, a dialect of modern Nerlinean with many Sevain and Kanath words mixed in. It was the language of commerce and diplomacy for the kingdoms surrounding the Nerlinean Ocean.

The couple exchanged their vows of commitment to each other before the four priests and priestesses. Then one of the priestesses produced a long length of white silk, embroidered with symbols stitched in gold thread. She placed it across their wrists and then wrapped it round them, binding them together, representing their union.

The watching notables gave a polite round of applause. Ascrina beamed a smile at them all. Dryana had to stifle a laugh as she compared it with Balinor’s face. He seemed half elated and half terrified.

The crowd parted and the happy couple progressed from the altar to the door of the temple. They were flanked by the priests on one side and Prince Karden and his councillors on the other. Lord Lornar and the rest of the notables crowded behind them. Slinker and Dryana suddenly found themselves stuck at the back. They heard a great roar of appreciation from the crowd waiting outside as the pair exited the temple and made their appearance at the top of the steps. The Prince’s Guard formed two lines leading down from the stone building’s entrance, and the couple progressed down the steps and along the cobbled street towards the prince’s palace. Its ugly granite façade could be seen on a low hill in the distance.

By the time Dryana and Slinker reached the exit, the crowd outside the temple had started to disperse. The pair stood at the top of the steps watching the happy couple disappear into the distance surrounded by guards and trailed by a large crowd of excited well-wishers.

Well, that should secure the Slayer position on Kangorn? observed Dryana quietly.

Always the romantic, replied the Tancree sarcastically.

The gaze she gave made him realize not only was she serious, but also asking a question. Slinker paused before responding, considering how to phrase his reply; he knew that Dryana and Balinor were close friends.

You don’t think his loyalty will now be to Kangorn? Slinker posited carefully. Sali, after all, has transferred most of Balinor’s company responsibilities here on Kangorn to us.

He will have many new duties now he is heir to Kangorn, that is all, pronounced Dryana, though she did not sound entirely convinced.

Slinker raised an eyebrow, his expression mocking at the potential sexual innuendo. Dryana lightly punched him on the arm in annoyance.

I don’t doubt his love for us, Dryana, said Slinker kindly. But I have more respect for Balinor than to believe he will accept being Saliana’s placeman on Kangorn. If he survives to become prince, he will be his own man; we both know that.

Once a Slayer, declared Dryana with a giggle and skipped down the steps.

Always a Slayer, Slinker replied quietly. But his face was serious as he watched her go.

Chapter Two – The Red Sabre

The harbour of Dimchurch bustled with activity. Its large hexagonal quay heaved with ships of different shapes and sizes. The narrow stone walkway that surrounded the harbour was packed with labourers and cargo. Men-at-arms, knights and mercenary soldiers all mingled with laughing women and screaming children. Animals were being brought off ships. There were great twelve-foot-tall adunels with their wide horns and dark reddish-brown skins, used for meat and for leather. There were iribis, flightless birds that stood on a pair of slender but surprisingly strong legs. They were covered in soft down of a mottled brown colour. They were largely devoid of bigger feathers, with just a couple of rings of black feathers around the area where their long scaly neck met their bodies. Twice the height of an average man, they were used as mounts for light cavalry, messengers and the like.

A mid-size trading galleon was drawing into the harbour searching for a spot on one of the long wooden jetties that sprouted from the harbour quay. The sail on its main mast had been drawn in completely and smaller sails on its lesser masts were being used to manoeuvre the ship into port. It was commanded, temporarily at least, by a liveried pilot, who had joined the ship at the entrance to the narrow channel that protected the harbour from attack. He was shouting orders to the sailors. Fluttering in the wind at the top of the mast was the ship’s flag: a red sabre on a white field, the symbol of the Red Sabre Company of Merchants.

Three figures stood on the bridge deck watching the rest of the crew under the command of the pilot bring the ship slowly into port. The figure in the middle was a man of average build and height, with white skin tanned dark brown by years spent at sea. His long black hair was tied back in a ponytail and a closely cut goatee beard framed his chin. He was dressed in the garb of an affluent merchant: soft leather breeches, with a red doublet over the top. A sabre hung from his belt on one side and a long dagger rested against his leg on the other. A light grey cloak hung around his shoulders. His name was Kanjar Hoey and for the last year he had been serving as an agent for the Company of Slayers – which begged the question, what was he doing captaining a ship belonging to the Red Sabre Company?

The woman to his right was his wife, or at least pretending to be for the benefit of the hidebound people of Dimchurch, her name was Katrina East. She was tall for a woman, clearing her husband by a couple of inches. She was in her early thirties with a smiling round face. Her strawberry blonde hair hung in curls to her shoulders. Her brown eyes scanned the harbour, quietly assessing. She was dressed in a long purple dress that came to her ankles, was belted tightly around her waist and hid her knee-high leather boots. Conservative dress would be expected by the Temple of Caon, who controlled the holy city of Dimchurch. Katrina had been an independent trader before striking a deal with the Company of Slayers to sell their bolts of silk across the steppe to the Mourn. This deal had made her a small fortune, and, on its completion, she had accepted Saliana’s offer of continued cooperation with the Slayer Company.

The last of the three stood slightly behind Kanjar and to his left. He loomed over both of them, tall and heavily built, as if a wall had got up and moved. He was dressed in a long coat of huffrin leather covered with metal plates over silk shirt and leather trousers, a common form of armour used by the steppe tribes, be they Humans, Mourn or Gar. A conical iron helmet rested on his head with a chainmail surround to protect his neck and cheeks. Clipped across his mouth was a leather gorget that covered his throat and mouth. A large bastard sword was strapped across his back. He appeared to be the personal bodyguard for the two merchants in front of him.

In truth, the armour served two purposes. The first was protection. The second was to disguise the sharp angular features of its wearer. With the helmet on, only his cold blue eyes could be seen. His name was Kyrian Slayer. He was the military chief of the Company of Slayers and regarded as second only in the company to the Lady Saliana. Once called Kyrian of Kilon, he had been a wrestler working as a bodyguard for rich merchants. He had been enslaved before escaping with Saliana and the other Slayers, and they had formed a merchant company together. He had been to Dimchurch before: the last time he had fled the city with the knights of Temple of Caon in hot pursuit. He doubted that anyone would recognize him, but it was better not to take the risk.

The Slayers had decided that one of the company’s ruling council needed to be on this mission. Sevains were generally distrustful of non-humans, which had ruled out Slinker, and tended to regard women as chattels of men, which ruled out Dryana. Saliana, given her reputation, would be easily spotted, even if they overlooked her being a woman and clearly having Gar blood. That had left Balinor and Kyrian, and the former was busy getting married. Kyrian was to masquerade as Kanjar’s bodyguard, allowing him to stay close to the negotiations that were about to take place.

For the last two hundred years, Dimchurch had been the power base of the Temple of Caon, the single church that had united the different Sevain kingdoms in religious belief in one god. The Sevains, a human people, had come out of the steppes of the north some three hundred years earlier and conquered the Kanath, another race of humans whose kingdom had become fractured by civil war. Over the ensuing hundred years, the different Sevain tribes had conquered almost all the former Kanath lands except for the Duchy of Las Ma. Dimchurch had been the last city to fall.

The Temple of Caon had started as a group of pious knights made up of younger sons of the chiefs and major leaders of the different Sevain tribes. They rode hadan, large lizard creatures capable of carrying an armoured warrior into battle and fearsome on the charge. They had drawn their numbers from different tribes, thereby acting as a unifying force among the human tribes. During the century of conquest, they had become the most feared and most professional part of the Sevain military. They had also evolved to become the dominant strand of the Caonic religion. In the first fifty years after taking control of Dimchurch, the Temple of Caon had made itself the sole church and religious authority for the Caonic religion. Opposing strands of the religion had either been forced to integrate or, if deemed too heretical, destroyed.

The Temple had then set about converting the subject Kanath population to the religion of the Sevains. This had been largely successful, with the cities and towns converting quickly. The countryside had taken longer. The groves of the Kanath mother goddesses Lynidine and Julyiana had been cut down. The ancient stone circles of the Gar had been toppled. The great stone temples of the old faith, built by the finest stonemasons, had been converted to Caon or razed to their foundations. Their links to the pagan gods, Tempor, Lord of Time, and Sargon the Thunderer were now forgotten. The old faith and the old ways had struggled on in small villages off the main roads. Kyrian’s mother had been a priestess of the old faith. She had been hanged as a witch by temple knights. Kyrian and his younger sister Dryana had been forced to flee, ending up in Kilon.

The Temple of Caon’s mission was to convert the human peoples of the west to their god. They saw the gods of the old faith worshipped by the original Kanath people of the west as devils and demons. Therefore, any war against the Duke of Las Ma, the King of Delenor, or the Order of Dawn on Anaror became not only a war of conquest but a holy war. Such a war had started some three months earlier at the first sign of spring, when the Prince of Setsonia and Earl of Allakor had united to attack the Duchy of Las Ma, the last independent Kanath territory. They had been supported vigorously by the Temple.

The war had gone well for the Sevains, who made swift advances through the Duchy until they had reached its namesake capital, Las Ma. There the Sevains’ army had ground to a halt against its vast walls and in the face of the Fire Mages of the Order of Dawn who had allied themselves with the Duke of Las Ma.

Looking up at the dark grey walls of Dimchurch that towered a hundred feet above their ship, Kyrian could appreciate what the Sevains were facing. The walls of Las Ma were said to have been built under the guidance of the same Nerlinean architects that had designed the great embanked fortifications of Dimchurch. They had stood for a thousand years – albeit with numerous repairs. It was even said that magic had been woven into the fabric of the walls, though the practical Kyrian doubted such talk.

The ship had been tied up and a gangplank put in place to the wooden jetty. The three progressed down the timber walkway, Kanjar leading, Katrina following demurely behind in line with the Sevain custom and Kyrian bringing up the rear. The jetty was crowded, but Kanjar could see ahead, pushing their way through a temple knight flanked by a pair of men-at-arms. All three wore chainmail armour that encased them from head to foot. Thrown over it were yellow tabards bearing the round black sun emblem of the Temple. The same symbol fluttered from banners lining the wall and from some of the ships in port. All three wore swords on leather belts around their waists. The two men-at-arms wore conical helms with a cross piece to protect the nose and clasped spears in their hands. The knight wore no helm; instead, his chainmail hood was thrown back. As was tradition for the temple knights, his hair was long, reaching past his shoulders. His face was covered with a thick brown beard that grew halfway down his chest.

Name and purpose? the knight demanded, his voice a roar above the buzz of the dock.

Kanjar, my lord, of the Red Sabre Company, the merchant responded, using the honorific expected by temple knights.

And your purpose? There is a war on, you know? the knight asked impatiently; he had been on duty for hours now.

Kanjar produced a long dagger from nowhere and threw it at the wooden surface of the jetty. It sunk into the timber, juddering there for a moment. The two men-at-arms surged forward, spears ready. The knight stopped them with a raised fist, his eyes appraising the merchant party. They settled first on Kyrian, before looking cautiously back at Kanjar.

He knelt down to where the dagger was still quivering in the floor, and with a quick movement wrenched it free. He stood up and tapped the