Shadow's master

A monstrous pyramid dominated the skyline, and a hollow feeling gnawed at Caim's insides as he recalled the vision he'd seen in Sybelle's sanctum.

He hovered before an enormous construction perched on the desolate plain. Its angular black walls were riddled with silver veins and pockets of polished crystal. Gargantuan towers rose like titanic fingers, topped with dagger-sharp spires.

Was his mother inside, a captive for all these years? Or was she long dead? He gazed up to the pointed apex.

Now what?

That was the question. He didn't have a clue what to do next. Caim started walking parallel to the walls as he considered how to gain entry. The ramparts looked thick enough to shrug off any siege weapon he'd ever seen, but there were flaws in any design.

Caim halted as a sudden pressure constricted inside his chest. He dropped to one knee and reached for his knives. Distant sounds reached his ears from the west, where a cortege of people climbed a stone road leading from the cliffs to the citadel gates. Eight men carried a palanquin covered by gauzy curtains, and a coffle of slaves trailed behind. When they neared the gatehouse, a horn blew from the high walls, and a troop of soldiers in black plate armor filed out.

Caim was about to move closer when the litter stopped. The curtains covering its interior opened, and a woman's face appeared. He took her for a shadow woman by her lustrous, dusky skin and deep black hair. She was slimmer than Sybelle had been, with sharper features and thin, arched eyebrows. When she gazed in his direction, Caim ground his teeth in frustration, knowing on some level that she had sensed his presence, just as he'd sensed her. He ducked down to create a lower profile and concentrated on hiding from her extramundane perception, pushing back against the pressure in his chest. It was an uncomfortable sensation, similar to scrubbing his skin with a stiff wire brush from the inside, but after several slow, deep breaths the constriction eased.

On the road, the woman looked about for another minute, and then let the curtain fall shut. The soldiers formed up and escorted the palanquin inside the citadel. The gates of the barbican closed behind the last slave in line, sealing the fortress.

Caim sighed through his teeth, weighing his next move. Continue on alone and cast the dice, or retreat and regroup. The stars were out, red specks scattered across the black sky like fiery embers stirred by a strong breeze. He got to his feet and headed back to the cliffs.

As he reached the top of the chimney and prepared to lever himself over the edge, Caim noticed something that made him stop in his tracks. The tugging in his head, which he had followed for more than three months and several hundred leagues, was gone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Josey ducked under a low-hanging branch, its pallid twigs curled like claws in the dark. She was bone-tired, but every time her eyes closed she saw them again-the hacking swords and axes, the maimed soldiers writhing on the ground, the cacophony of screams that filled the air and went on and on like it would never end.

“Majesty,” Brian said in her ear. “Are you all right?”

She nodded and tried not to think about his strong arm around her middle or the places her backside touched against as she rode before him in the same saddle. But those thoughts were comforting compared to the horrors that otherwise haunted her. She had always imagined two armies made a titanic crash when they met, but from her vantage on the hill she had heard only muted shouts and tinny clangs, the thwacks of the siege engines as they released their fury. The invaders had weathered the flights of arrows and missiles to pour over the earthworks like an army of ants, filling the trenches with the bodies of friend and foe alike. Josey thought it was going to end right then and there, but Argentus sent his reserves straight into the boiling heart of the fight, and the auxiliaries held the center.

But then a fiery explosion rocked the battlefield. Soldiers were hurtled into the air like dolls, their mutilated arms and legs flailing. Oily smoke wafted from the glowing crater where a platoon of her men had been standing a moment before. Josey looked to Hirsch, but the adept had his eyes pinched shut while he mumbled under his breath. She couldn't understand a word of it. She expected balls of fire from him in response, or lightning from the sky, not foreign mantras. Another explosion decimated a squadron of archers, and Josey searched for the source. Then she saw them advancing through enemy ranks, a company of horsemen in gleaming black armor. They surrounded a mighty figure of a man who could only be the enemy commander. He was clad from neck to heels in crimson plate and wore no helmet on his shaved pate. A bannerman rode behind him holding a standard-a black fist clutching a bolt of lightning on a bloodred field. The warlord lifted his arm, and yet another explosion tore through her troops.

Finally, Hirsch spoke. The adept looked exhausted, though he hadn't moved, but he yelled above the mayhem, “Go, lass! We'll hold as long as we can!”

Josey shook her head, determined to remain to the end. Then a rider plunged through the cordon of her bodyguards. Splashed in grime and gore, Brian thrust his bloody sword back into its scabbard as he reached down for her. “Majesty, we must flee!”

She hesitated, but then she thought of the life growing inside her and took Brian's hand. He swung her up before him, and they galloped down the back of the hill. Her last view at the battle had been of Captain Drathan trading sword-strokes with an Uthenorian warrior while Hirsch looked to the heavens.

Settling back into Brian's embrace, Josey blinked away the tears forming in her eyes. I have to be strong.

She wasn't exactly sure what direction they were going, and part of her didn't care. She was content to let him take control, just for a little while. Brian had found a forest near the battlefield, reasoning that the trees would hide their passage. From time to time she looked back at him as they rode. Brian looked older than before, his hair stiff with dried sweat and mud. Dirt encircled his eyes and ran across the bridge of his nose. Yet, even grimy and sweaty he was magnificent. Stop staring!

Josey forced herself to look straight ahead. “Are we being pursued, Sir Brian?”

“Most likely, Majesty.”

“Were you hurt in the fighting?”

He lifted his left arm. Some blood had leaked through the mail sleeve. “I'll be all right.”

That sounded just like Caim. Why couldn't men just admit when they were hurt? A little voice whispered in the back of her head. They do it for us. Just like you pretend to be strong for your people even when you feel like crying.

“Do you believe your father will have had any luck gathering more forces?” she asked.

“I don't hold much hope for it, Majesty. Even if my father sent out messengers as soon as he reached home, the nearest holdfast is three days away. I've been thinking on this.”

“And?”

“Perhaps it would be wiser to gather the realm's remaining forces in the south, ahead of the invaders. The northern provinces, I fear, are lost.”

Josey bit back on a sigh. She had been thinking the same thing, but had been afraid to tell Brian that she must abandon his home to the enemy. But I swear we will take back every inch of ground.

“Do you think any of our soldiers escaped?” she asked.

“Perhaps. The trumpets were calling retreat as we rode away, and the enemy didn't have much cavalry to give pursuit. If the gods are gracious, some on our side might have survived.”

Josey grabbed for the reins. “We should go back. We could rally the-”

“Majesty.” Brian gently gathered the reins back from her. “We cannot risk it. If you were captured, the war would be over.”

Josey huffed, but she knew he was right. They rode in silence for some time through the dark wood. Her mind wandered, wondering about her men, about Hirsch and Captain Drathan. About Caim…He's fine. He left you, remember?