The dead would whisper to him, I remembered, mind filled with the memory of that hulking figure driving the cart taking Toria and me to the Pit Mines. Such thoughts inevitably led to the chainsman’s demise at Lorine’s hands, slain in the act of trying to torture answers from my bound self. The dead told him his fate… He really is going to kill you.

  “Exactly what is happening?” Juhlina enquired, equal parts annoyed and baffled.

  “A very bad dream,” I said, lowering my sword. The movement caused the jagged lump of the feather to shift against my ribs. I could just throw it away, I thought, hands itching with the urge. Yet the Sack Witch had been very clear. This thing was needed, and therefore so was the curse it inflicted upon me.

  “How do I stop it?” I asked the Eithlisch and for perhaps the only time in our entire acquaintance I saw a glimmer of sympathy in his face.

  “I don’t know,” he told me. “I know only that you must bear it, or the Doenlisch would not have guided you here.”

  Sighing, I returned my sword to its scabbard and slumped against the dead birch, sliding to the ground. “Best sleep,” I said to Juhlina, drawing my cloak tight about me. He would sing, I recalled huddling in faint expectation of rest, for this forest was surely filled with ghosts. When he sang he couldn’t hear them.

  Despite my fears, I saw no more ghosts in the forest. Although I was grateful for their absence, it seemed strange for a land so filled with the hungry souls of the departed.

  “I have only scant ken of such things,” the Eithlisch said when I raised the issue. “But I do know that the dead of the blasted city are incapable of much thought beyond a desire for the touch of the living. Yet the one you saw spoke, didn’t it?”

  “He did.” I paused in realisation. “He spoke Caerith. The tongue spoken here in ages past might be similar, but I doubt I could understand it.”

  “Ah.” The Eithlisch nodded. “A more recent soul then, drawn to this place as many are, only to find a deadly trap in the embrace of the long dead.”

  “It was a child. A boy.” My gaze shifted to Juhlina. “He seemed in want of a mother.”

  “It’s often need that shackles them to the world of the living,” the Eithlisch said. “You should prepare yourself for more needful spectres, Alwyn Scribe.”

  We cleared the forest by mid-morning, beholding the distant majesty of the falls. The subsequent descent through the slanting channel and trek along the banks of the lagoon were blessedly uneventful, though I spent each night in fearful anticipation. I had begun to indulge the notion that the curse may have lifted, or at least become dormant, a hope instantly dispelled when we reached the settlement at the southern end of the lake. There I happened upon a woman standing naked atop one of the walkways, ignored by all who passed both by and through her. Her pallid skin was wet, hair twisted into coiling tendrils that dripped water with each toss of her head. And she screamed.

  The sound was both beastly and human, a wordless, unending screech of rage and grief. The complete indifference of the surrounding Caerith seemed impossible, for I felt sure such a scream could pierce the veil between life and death. Yet only I heard her. One glance at her face, eyes sunken into a mask of inconsolable despair, told me this was a soul beyond reason. All I could do was shuffle past, careful to avoid catching her eye lest she realise she had finally found an audience for her wailing. I could hear it all the way to the boat and for the first mile after we cast off. When her dreadful song finally faded, I pulled the feather from my pocket, contemplating how easy it would be to let it slip from my grasp.

  You must seek out the stone feather, the Sack Witch had said. The key that unlocks all lies.

  “You didn’t tell me the price,” I muttered, thumb tracing over the ancient stone, once the flesh of a being Sihlda had considered little more than a metaphor. I pondered the contradiction that, even though I had now been presented with incontrovertible confirmation for the basis of Covenant belief, my faith had not been buttressed by the knowledge. In fact, the Covenant and its many Martyrs, relics, shrines and scrolls seemed absurdly infantile now. A fumbling attempt to comprehend something far beyond human understanding.

  “Saw another one, didn’t you?” Juhlina asked. She had charge of the tiller while the Eithlisch worked the sail and I lazed in morose contemplation. During the journey back, I had enlightened her about the nature of the curse and the thing I carried, reasoning that keeping it from her was pointless. When I nodded, she focused a hard glare on the feather. “Throw the bloody thing over the side,” she said.

  “I can’t.” I returned the feather to my pocket. “We need it.”

  “For what? How can the dead win a war?”

  “They… know things. See things the living do not. I think that’s why she sent me to fetch it.”

  “If it’s so important, why not come get it herself?”

  “The same reason he couldn’t touch it.” I nodded to the Eithlisch, recalling what he had said about the chainsman. “There’s too much power in this for someone who already possesses a great deal. Only those without it can hope to carry it without going mad.” I spoke with a conviction I didn’t feel. Although the dead woman’s screams no longer reached us, the echo of them still lingered, making me wonder how much more I could endure before this was over.

  Upon arrival at the Mirror City, we were greeted by the sight of Uthren and two other paelah waiting on shore. There was no sign of any accompanying Paelith. The great horse snorted as I approached him, shuddering at the hand I touched to his flank. His eye tracked me with a wariness that had been absent during the journey south, and it wasn’t hard to fathom the reason.

  “Don’t like what I carry, do you?” I said, smoothing a hand over his neck before climbing into the saddle. “Neither do I.”

  During the subsequent journey north, the Eithlisch eschewed visiting any Caerith settlements. Instead, we rode, fast and hard. Although more accustomed to horseback than I had been not so long ago, constant riding, with only a few hours’ rest come nightfall, was a severe strain. Even so, I was grateful for it. When at the gallop there were no ghosts to plague me and they were sparse in the places we camped. Still, some would find me. Ten miles north of the lake I was woken by a toaslisch with an arrow embedded in his eye, insistent that I direct him to his home village. A few nights later, with Uthren slowed to a trot in the confines of the forest, I happened upon a young woman dangling by her neck from rope affixed to the branches of a tall pine. Something about her predicament must have amused her, for she laughed the whole time. After that, I resolved to try the chainsman’s trick of singing whenever Uthren’s pace slowed. It worked to banish the sound of their voices, but not the sight of their spectral forms. When bedding down, I became habituated to slipping into slumber while murmuring one of Ayin’s songs with a strip of cloth bound over my eyes.

  As the forest grew less thick we began to encounter bands of toalisch and veilisch heading north. Just a few at first, each about a dozen strong, but they grew more numerous with the passing miles. By the time the trees thinned and the heathland fringing the northern coast came into view, we rode among a veritable Caerith army. The elders’ call had been heeded, at least by the warriors and the hunters. Of the Paelith, we still saw none.

  A few miles on we were greeted by the sight of another army, this one far more familiar in character. Castle Dreol was now enclosed by a stockade of fresh-cut timber, itself surrounded by a city of tents and newly built shacks. Companies of soldiers drilled on the flat land south of the bluffs and the bay beyond was busy with craft both large and small. Flying above it all on a pole rising from the castle’s tower was a banner emblazoned with the Algathinet crest. The king was in residence and the Crown Host mustered for war.

  PART THREE

  Why do I ask you to march to distant lands? Why must we carry the cleansing fire and purifying sword across the mountains? The answer is simple, my friends, for there evil lies. There the Malecite have laid their plans and succoured our enemies. There the malign Caerith have used their arcane sorcery to nurture the seed that will grow into the Second Scourge. But they reckon without our courage, our fortitude, our faith. Though it costs us ten thousand lives and ten thousand more, into the enemy’s lands we must strike and slay the Second Scourge in its cradle. This is demanded of us by the Seraphile, for never have I heard their voice with greater clarity. Thus, they decree that all hearts must be as steel in this new Covenant, for we can no longer suffer a single foe to live.

  Extract from Martyr Evadine’s Proclamation to the Ascendant Host

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  I expected the first council of war between the princess regent and Lord Roulgarth to be a tense affair, and I was not disappointed. Leannor and the royal household had taken over the tower, their small coterie of servants making some effort to adorn the cramped lower chamber with tapestries and curtains to create an impression of regal authority. Three chairs of suitably throne-like dimensions had been carried all the way from Tarisahl and arranged atop a hastily constructed wooden dais covered by a large gold embroidered rug. The king occupied the central position, sitting with stiff formality that must have taken his mother many hours of tutelage to instil. A less composed Princess Ducinda sat to his left and his mother on the right. Upon arrival, Wilhum had informed me that this meeting had been awaiting our return from the Caerith heartland. Leannor’s emissaries to Roulgarth had been rebuffed with curt instructions for her troops to venture no more than a mile from the coast. It was only with the arrival of the Eithlisch that Roulgarth had consented to attend this gathering.

  He and Leannor exchanged toneless greetings of clipped formality, mostly stripped of the usual effusive honorifics. Lord Merick, acting as Roulgarth’s herald, introduced him simply as, “Knight Warden of Alundia and Vahlisch to the Caerith people”.

  Leannor’s welcome was delivered by a stern-faced Sir Ehlbert. “The Princess Regent, on behalf of His Highness King Arthin Algathinet, Monarch of all Albermaine, bids you welcome, my lord.” His tone was lacking in embellishment save for a pointed emphasis on the word “all”. Seeing how Roulgarth’s visage darkened, I discerned he hadn’t missed the implication. Whatever accommodation might be reached here, as far as Leannor was concerned it wouldn’t involve the question of Alundian sovereignty.

  Consequently, when Ehlbert’s voice faded, there descended what I expected to be a prolonged and uncomfortable interval of silence. Fortunately, one personage present proved heedless of the thickened atmosphere. Letting out a happy squeal, Princess Ducinda abandoned her place alongside her stiff-backed betrothed and rushed to her uncle, wrapping her arms around his neck as he knelt to welcome her. She let out a giggle as he gathered her up, extending a hand to Merick.

  “You have to kiss this, Cousin,” she said. “I’m a princess now, you see.”

  “You honour me, Cousin,” the young knight said with grave solemnity before pressing his lips to the back of her hand.

  I saw a shadow pass over Roulgarth’s face then, his gaze taking on a distant cast as he looked closely at the smiling face of his niece. I knew he was seeing someone else, a woman whose shade, I was relieved to find, did not linger among those gathered in the castle’s lower chamber. In fact, so far as I could tell, no dead had come to plague me here. I wondered if the presence of so many living souls deterred them somehow. The bustle of the lakeside settlement hadn’t quelled the screams of the drowned woman, but then, she had been utterly mad. Perhaps sane ghosts were more shy.

  “Ducinda!” the king snapped in a voice I assumed he thought to be commanding but instead sounded peevish. “A queen-to-be should mind her place. Don’t you think, Mother?”

  Judging by Leannor’s clenched jaw and pained smile, I deduced that his mother’s principal thought in that moment was to take a switch to the royal backside. “I think it would be ungenerous to begrudge the princess a family reunion, Majesty,” she replied. Unlike her son, the note of command in her tone was very clear.

  “And Uncle Scribe!” Ducinda said, artfully ignoring her future husband as she turned in Roulgarth’s grasp, extending her hand to me. I could tell her true uncle was less than pleased by her addressing me in such a way, so took a small crumb of pleasure in graciously bowing to kiss her hand.

  “Princess. I trust you didn’t find the voyage too taxing.”

  “Oh, it was awful. Arthin spewed the whole way here.”

  “I did not!” the king interjected, to which his betrothed responded with a taunting poke of her tongue.

  “You look sad, Uncle Scribe,” Ducinda went on. Her small brows bunched as she peered at my face. “Why is that?”

  “This is merely the face of a man who has travelled many miles, Majesty.” I bowed again and stepped back. “Though, I am greatly pleased to see you again.”

  “The king and the princess will retire,” Leannor stated, eyes narrowed as she directed a hard stare at the child in Roulgarth’s arms. I wondered if her annoyance rose more from the rekindling of Ducinda’s familial relationship with Roulgarth, or a sense of maternal envy. She cared for the girl deeply, I could see that. But to fulfil her ordained purpose, Ducinda’s loyalties could flow in but one direction.

  Arthin muttered some sullen objections but a glower from his mother was enough to quell them as he and Ducinda were duly ushered from the room.

  “Now then,” Leannor said, rising from her chair and clasping her hands together, brisk and businesslike. “We have much to discuss, good sirs and ladies. I believe, Lord Scribe, you have news to share regarding your meeting with the Caerith tribal chieftains.”

  Roulgarth gave a faintly amused grunt at this, while I felt only a welling of weary resignation. The customs of the Caerith were going to be hard for Leannor to grasp. The Eithlisch might have helped clarify matters, but he had stalked off into the forest shortly after our arrival that morning. Roulgarth claimed not to know where he might have gone but did intimate it would be best not to expect his swift return.

  “I met with the council of Caerith elders, Majesty,” I said. “I am pleased to report they recognise the danger we share and have spoken in support of war with the False Queen. Many warriors have already gathered to benefit from the guidance of the Vahlisch—” I inclined my head at Roulgarth “—and many more are currently marching north to muster here.”

  “I see. This word Vahlisch, may I enquire as to its exact meaning?”

  “Blade master is the closest equivalent,” Roulgarth said. “The Caerith rarely fight with bladed weaponry. However, they are wise enough to recognise the need to further their skills if they are to meet a northern army in open field.”

  “And so thousands gather to learn the way of civilised battle from you.” Leannor pursed her lips. “It strikes me that ‘marshal’ or ‘general’ would be a more apt translation.”

  “I would have thought,” Roulgarth returned, a low growl creeping into his voice, “that Your Majesty would have had enough experience of battle by now to know that it can never be described as civilised.”

  Instead of the expected retort, Leannor merely raised an eyebrow, mouth curving in chagrined amusement. “Quite so, my lord. Tell me, how many warriors will the Caerith commit to this war?”

  “They do not bury themselves in numbers as we do. I can only estimate our strength, but it will be considerable.”

  “Really?” Leannor turned an inquisitive eye to Ayin, who stood just to the rear of her chair. “I think we can do better than that, don’t you, Lady Ayin?”

  It didn’t surprise me that Leannor would have discovered Ayin’s facility for numbers. Even with her mostly complete return to sanity, Ayin remained a guileless soul in many respects. I would have to warn her to be more circumspect in future.

  “As of yesterday evening,” she said, “there were six thousand, four hundred and seventy-two Caerith warriors encamped in the vicinity of this castle.” She hesitated then bobbed her head at Leannor, adding in an awkward mutter, “If it please Your Majesty.”

  “It pleases me very much, my lady.” The princess regent paused for a momentary rumination, the set of her brows indicating genuine calculation rather than performative artifice. “Joined to our own strength, with more being ferried here every day by Mistress Sahken’s allies, it appears we will soon have a mighty host at our disposal.”

  “A host mighty in number will still prove weak if not properly trained and commanded,” Roulgarth said. “From what I can tell, many of your soldiers are not worthy of the name.”

  “They will be,” I said. “By the time we march for Albermaine.”

  “That would be the work of months,” Sir Ehlbert pointed out. “Time in which the False Queen grows ever stronger.”

  “As will we,” I returned. “A great many more Caerith warriors will come and there are veterans aplenty among our ranks who can train those carried to this shore. Besides, we have not the shipping to convey the entire host to Albermaine in one voyage. When the time comes to march, we must do so via the mountains, in winter.”

  The King’s Champion squinted at me in patent suspicion. “The mountains are barely passable in summer. Attempting to cross in winter would invite disaster.”

  “There is a route, one revealed to me by the Caerith elders, a pass that only reveals itself when the snows fall. Our enemy will not expect us until the spring. Advancing into Alundia months before will throw her into disarray.”

  “Unless her pestilent visions warn her of our approach,” Leannor pointed out.

  “They won’t. Not as long as I march with the army.”

  “So—” Leannor resumed her seat, calculating frown still in place “—you propose a delay of months while we await winter.”

  “Months in which to hone the Crown Host into something capable of defeating the False Queen’s army, for I’ve no doubt she forges a formidable force as we speak, a crusade intended to bring destruction to these lands.”