Journey of Shadows (The Palâdnith Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  Osforth wrung his hands together and cringed before the realmlord.

  “My word is true this time. I will have my farmers beaten, my fisherman whipped and my wine-makers caned – they will all be more productive this year, I swear it!”

  “Promises, promises,” Thorne’s voice rumbled through the reception hall. “What I want are dracs – gold, silver and bronze – not a mouthful of lies. For years, you have drained me Osforth. The other marshals do not spend their coffers on furs and jewels, on courtesans and gambling. They remember their duty and pay their taxes.”

  “I know I have been lax,” Osforth whined, “but that will change. From today it will change!”

  Thorne sighed. “I will not waste any more time on you. This year you are not going to wheedle out of paying your dues. In a week, I will send my bailiffs to Weatherbay. If you do not have my payment in full – two-thousand gold dracs – they will ransack your tower and take everything of any worth. They will strip your home clean. If you attempt to hide your valuables, I will have you arrested and thrown in Larnoth Dungeons. Do you understand?”

  “My Lord… please!” Osforth wailed. “I…”

  Thorne waved him away. “Be gone Osforth, or I’ll throw you into the dungeons now and be done with it.”

  Taking this as their cue to exit lest the realmlord decide to imprison them all, Seth and Kal grabbed hold of an arm each and dragged their master from the hall. Osforth’s wails and pleas echoed off the walls.

  As they neared the doors, Seth made the error of glancing back at the realmlord and his advisors. The female Esquill’s gaze seized his and held him fast. Seth stumbled, nearly causing himself, Kal and Osforth to go down in a tangled heap.

  It was as if a whip of lightening had just lashed across the room and caught him. Her gaze was magnetic and terrifying, but Seth’s reaction came unbidden.

  He gathered the power she bore down on him and flung it back at her.

  Release me!

  The woman jolted and stepped backwards, her eyes widening.

  A moment later, Seth was out in the corridor. The reception hall’s door boomed shut and Marshal Osforth sagged in his tower guards’ arms.

  “Take me back inside,” he wailed. “Let me speak to Thorne. Give me some time and I can convince him to be lenient this year. I must speak to him!”

  “Milord,” Seth replied, taking a firm grip of Osforth’s arm and propelling him down the hallway, “if you go back inside that hall, it is likely you will never see your home again.”

  “The realmlord will not be swayed this time,” Kal added. “It would not be wise to anger him further.”

  Darin led the way to the entrance hall and down to the courtyard. Osforth’s protests had now dwindled to feeble threats as they bundled him into his carriage and retrieved their horses. Seized by an urgent need to get away from this place, Seth sent the carriage first out under the portcullis. Then, they rode out over the drawbridge and down the hill towards the city. A biting wind gusted down the harbour and rain lashed against Osforth’s party. If it was possible, the weather had worsened since their arrival. It would be dark within the hour; they would have to stay the night in Dunethport.

  Darin rode up alongside Seth, his thin face pinched. “That’s it then. The marshal’s ruined,” he muttered.

  Seth tore his thoughts away from the Esquill woman and her hypnotic eyes, and glanced back at the carriage.

  “Admit it, you’re not surprised,” he replied. “Our days in Marshal Osforth’s service are numbered.”

  ***

  The White Lady tavern lay on the outskirts of the city on the edge of a lush, terraced garden. The White Lady was Dunethport’s finest tavern. It was a gracious, three-storied building, plastered white, with a slate-tiled roof. Marshal Osforth always insisted on staying at the Lady whenever they visited Dunethport; in fact, he was such a regular that the tavern reserved its best chamber, with a view over the harbour, just for him.

  The stable-hands looked on in amusement, while the three tower guards hoisted the shaken marshal out of the carriage and escorted him into the tavern.

  “Two thousand gold dracs!” Osforth muttered as they climbed the stairs to his chamber. “Where am I supposed to find that sort of money?”

  You could sell that mountain of furs and jewels in your safe for a start, Seth thought sourly, and that armoury of ceremonial weapons you’ve never touched.

  Servants had already brought up the marshal’s two large trunks of belongings to his room. When they reached Osforth’s chamber, Garth was busy warming a pot of wine over the fireplace. Seth led Osforth over to an armchair near the fire, while Kal and Darin hovered in the doorway. The marshal waved all three of them away as soon as he settled into the chair.

  “Leave me,” he snarled, not able to bear the sight of the three men who had witnessed his humiliation any longer. “Garth will see to me now. Get out!”

  Seth glanced over at Garth, who was uncorking a small bottle of Enisflower, a powerful sleeping draught. Just a couple of drops would have the marshal sleeping like a baby. Garth, his leathery face, giving nothing away, nodded.

  “Go on lads – go dry yourselves off. The marshal won’t need you again this evening.”

  ***

  Seth stepped out on to the open expanse of cobbles that marked Dunethport’s heart – the Great Square. Tall, narrow buildings housing taverns, brothels and alehouses ringed the wide space. Figures huddled in hooded cloaks and greatcoats milled around the entrances. In good weather, the Great Square was a place to linger and watch street performers, bards and jugglers. Yet, the sight that Seth missed this eve was that of the whores, leaning, bare breasted, out of windows on the upper stories of the brothels. Like sirens, they would call to passersby and beckon them inside. Seth rarely had enough money for one of them, normally having spent most of his paltry wage on ale in Weatherbay. Matilde on the other hand did not charge for her services, even if she was not as exciting as a Dunethport whore. Seth’s casual relationship with Matilde suited him; he had just passed his thirtieth winter and had no desire for anything serious at this stage of his life.

  Their destination tonight was the Golden Galleon. Squeezed in between two rowdy brothels, the tavern was a tall, timbered building that appeared to lurch out over the square. A sign, of a golden ship cresting a wave, hung above the entrance and dripped water on their heads as they pushed their way inside.

  They had not even managed to cross the threshold when a drunk lurched towards them. Cursing, the huge man barrelled into Seth, and would have knocked him flat if Kal had not broken his fall.

  Seth recovered his balance and dropped his shoulder. He jammed it into the drunk’s chest, slamming the man back against the doorframe.

  With this obstacle removed, Seth stepped past the drunk and gave him a dark look.

  “Sorry mate,” the drunk muttered.

  The tavern was heaving. Still, they managed to jostle themselves into position at a table, next to where two pipers belted out a rousing tune. Elbow to elbow, they ordered tankards of ale and a steak and onion pie each, from a willowy girl with soft brown eyes and a mass of blonde curls. The ale arrived, warm and frothy, and the pies shortly after. The pies were the size of small pumpkins with a crisp buttery pastry and rich filling. The three hungry men took huge bites and sighed in contentment as they ate.

  They needed a few more ales to wash down their fare, and after the third, the troubles of the day were little more than a hazy afterthought. When the pretty blonde serving wench brought their fourth round of ale, Seth flashed a smile, and was rewarded with a delightful blush.

  All three men watched her go, admiring her shapely rear as she did so, before Darin pulled out a pouch of knuckle bones.

  “Fancy a game boys?”

  “Go on then,” Seth grinned taking a gulp from his tankard. “It will distract me from pretty wenches.”

  A short while later, a peddler elbowed his way through the crowd and dumped his basket
of trinkets down on their table. He was a small, birdlike man dressed in a colourful, patched cloak. He appeared oblivious to the fact that they were absorbed in their game of knucklebones

  “Off you go,” Darin said, without bothering to glance the hawker’s way. “Take your baubles to another table.”

  Ignoring Darin, and obviously used to being given the brush off, the peddler began digging around in his basket.

  “Good evening my good fellows.”

  He produced a large black feather and waved it under Seth’s nose.

  “How about a harlet feather for luck? I can let you have one of these rare feathers for just one silver drac!”

  “That’s a harlet feather?” Seth replied with a frown. “Looks a bit small to me.”

  “I’d say it came from a turkey,” Darin added as he took his turn to throw the knucklebones and catch them on the back of his hand. “I told you, we’re not interested – push off!”

  Unfazed by their lack of interest, the peddler produced a handful of gleaming white stones.

  “How about these Malwagen charms – they ward off the evil eye. Times like these, you need all the protection and good fortune you can get!”

  “We make our own luck. I can’t believe you sell any of this rubbish,” Seth replied.

  “Even strong men like you need protection from the forces of darkness and evil,” the merchant replied cryptically, his beady eyes gleaming. “There’s an eclipse coming and it is an ill omen for us all. My brother is a soothsayer and he has foreseen it. Such events bring forth great change, and the war to the south is but a sign of what is to come...”

  As he spoke, the peddler reached into his bag.

  “Look!” he exclaimed, producing a small, stoppered bottle. “I have a special draught, made by one of the Sisters of Sial. It will give you the strength and potency of ten men!”

  Seth picked up the peddler’s basket and handed it back to him.

  “Enough. Sell your trinkets and spread your nonsense about eclipses and dark times elsewhere. We’re busy.”

  “Very well,” the peddler replied meekly, grasping his basket to his chest. “I wish you all a fine evening.”

  The man moved on to the next table and Seth heard him begin his patter once again.

  “Good evening my good fellows. How about a harlet feather for luck?”

  Kal watched him go before shaking his head. “What a life. Suddenly, our profession doesn’t seem so onerous.”

  “Well enjoy the security while it lasts,” Seth replied as he took his turn at throwing the knucklebones, “for that could be you in a few months time.”

  The evening wore on and the Golden Galleon pulsed with music and laughter. The three companions played a few more games of knucklebones and discussed the day’s events. Eventually, his bladder full of ale, Seth left his friends to finish the last game on their own and pushed his way towards the privy. Unsteady on his feet, Seth shoved his way past the revellers. A long day, combined with copious amounts of ale, had made him tired.

  It was an effort to cleave a path through the packed tavern, and Seth had almost reached the privy when he collided with a woman.

  She was attractive: tall and well built with wavy brown hair and laughing blue eyes.

  “Well hello, my lovely.”

  He put his hands on her hips, as if trying to move her out of the way, but instead his touch lingered. It was then he noticed that she wore blue robes and a silver-star pendant around her neck. The fact that he was fondling one of the Sisters of Sial would have put Seth off had he been sober. Many men believed that to touch a Sister brought a lifetime of impotency upon you. Yet, few of the Sisters were as attractive as this one. She was about his age, with full lips and a swelling bosom that pressed up against his chest as the crowd jostled them.

  “Hello yourself, handsome,” she replied with a knowing smile, running her hands across his chest in admiration. “It is not often a comely man such as yourself throws himself into my arms.”

  “I can do much more than that if you’re willing,” Seth replied, letting his own hands wander over the curve of her hips and the swell of her bottom.

  Her smile widened at his suggestion, but then froze on her lips.

  Surprised, Seth followed the direction of her gaze to where his shirt gaped open. Her fingers had fastened around an amulet that he wore around his neck.

  “Where did you get this?”

  The sultry temptress had disappeared, and a shrewd witch had replaced her. Her gaze never left his amulet. Seth let go of the woman and stepped backwards, tearing the amulet from her grasp.

  “I’ve always worn it,” he replied. “My mother gave one to me, and to each of my brothers.”

  They both looked at the amulet that now lay against Seth’s skin. It was tear-drop shaped and jet black, although its surface flickered as if a flame danced across it.

  The woman tore her gaze from the amulet and scrutinised Seth’s face. “Do you know what this is?”

  Seth shrugged. The witch was starting to irritate him. He tucked the amulet back inside his shirt and turned to continue on his way.

  “Wait!”

  The woman grabbed his arm and hauled him back. She was strong. Her fingers bit into his skin through his shirt. Her face was fierce.

  “Since you obviously don’t know or don’t care, I shall tell you,” she spoke quietly, holding his gaze in a snare. “Who was your mother?”

  Seth shook her off. “That’s none of your business.”

  “Heed my words,” the Sister of Sial replied, her gaze narrowing. “That is no pretty necklace you wear. It is a Sentorân charm stone, designed to protect its wearer. Such a charm is not given lightly. I’d wager you and your brothers are in danger, and if I were you I’d watch my step.”

  Chapter Two

  The Weaponsmith’s Woman

  Castlewatch – Catedrâl, Cathernis

  Eni Falkyn rose from his bed, just before the rooster in the walled garden next door started crowing. He winced as the soles of his feet slapped against the stone floor. It was a raw morning and his breath steamed in the air inside his bedchamber.

  Throwing open the shutters, Eni looked out at the day. From his second floor window, on the only hill for leagues around, he had an uninterrupted view across the neighbouring rooftops. The mist lay thick over the spires of Catedrâl, forming a milky sea pierced by hundreds of darning needles. The city stretched out over the Cathernis Plains – vast grasslands that reached from the coast in the east to the Starwalden Alps in the west, where the mighty mountain range formed Paladnith's snow-capped spine.

  Plumes of white smoke mingled with the morning mist, and the burnt resin smell of wood-fires followed Eni downstairs to his tiny kitchen. The fire he had tended until going to bed the night before had long gone out and the kitchen was now even colder than his bedchamber.

  Still half asleep, Eni went through his morning ritual. He lit the fire, filled a pot with water, and put it on to boil. Then, he went through into his workshop to light the fire in the forge. He hated these early starts in the winter but with spring approaching, he had a lot of work to get through; the short days seemed to be over before they even started.

  As the water warmed, Eni stripped to the waist and splashed his head, shoulders and torso. At thirty-three winters, he was tall and strong, with arms and shoulders sculpted by years of hammering steel and iron. His light brown hair was cut short to keep him cool in the forge. His eyes were the colour of the material he worked with day in and out – steel grey. Even alone, with only familiar surroundings as his witness, Eni exuded little warmth; austerity carved a face, which should have been handsome, into severe lines beyond his years.

  Eni took a draught of water and looked around for some breakfast. The only bread he had left was hard and stale. He would have to use it in a stew later. He was out of cheese and cured ham, and the small, sweet onions he liked to eat with bread and cheese were sprouting in their basket. The lack of food remind
ed him that it was shopping day. He would have to leave his forge and visit Catedrâl's market this morning, or he would go hungry. Eni scowled at the unappetising selection of food left in his pantry; a few mouldy or dusty offerings that even the rats had left alone.

  Eni hated to admit it but Lydia had always made sure he was fed well. She had been an excellent cook, and since she had left, he had missed having fresh bread every morning and hot dinners served up every evening. He was so busy these days that details like going to market and preparing meals seemed tiresome.

  Lydia had left him last summer. Eni had been so relieved to be free of her that for a while he did not mind being on his own. Months later, in the cheerless late winter, he did not enjoy the solitude so much.

  They had met at the Harvest Fest, two years earlier. It was a rare evening that Eni left his forge but, driven by the need for company and laughter, he had shut up shop and joined the revellers. The Harvest Fest took place in the woodland on Catedrâl’s outskirts. They feasted on wild meat – all cooked in an underground oven with baskets of root vegetables.

  The revellers had carted in mountains of flat-bread, a Catedrâl specialty, and casks of local cider. Taking a gulp of cider from a tankard, Eni had felt a rare smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He watched the flames from the bonfire roar high into the night and listened to the strains of a lyre echo across the treetops.

  Then he had seen her. She was lissom and tanned by the months of sunshine that had blessed Catedrâl that summer. Long dark hair flowed over her bare shoulders like oil and she was dressed lightly, in a white, sleeveless tunic, embroidered with gold, and cinched-in at the waist with gold brocade. On her tanned feet, she wore elegant leather sandals – and she moved like a nymph. It had taken Eni three tankards of cider before he got up the nerve to approach her, and even then, he struggled with making conversation. Instead of talking, they had danced – whirling and clinging together in the smoky darkness while the bonfire licked the night sky.