Dorian stared at her, sick to his stomach. ‘You want me to watch a spider eat your arm.’

  ‘There’s no one else I can trust. Please.’

  Dorian closed his eyes and pressed a hand to his face. He nodded. ‘Fine. Fine, I can’t leave you alone. I have some conditions though.’ he turned to Quince. ‘When I say stop, it stops. You remove the spider, no questions, no nothing.’

  Quince hesitated.

  ‘Yes.’ Asmara agreed. ‘Being killed by a giant spider doesn’t sound much nicer than being killed by shadow magic. If Dorian says stop, you stop, otherwise I won’t agree.’

  ‘Yes, fine, alright.’ Quince frowned. ‘But if you’re too squeamish and stop too early we’ll just have to-’

  ‘Too early? Are you planning on letting it kill her, Quince?’

  ‘No, of course not, you’re intentionally misunderstanding me! As I said before I’m not allowed-’

  ‘I would like to be present also.’ Jacques said, his eyes narrowed. ‘I’m finding your attitude concerning, to say the least, Quince. If you kill Asmara there’s no way the other shadow mages will work for us.’

  Quince threw up his hands, ‘fine, fine! The way you people talk! So squeamish, I said I wouldn’t let it kill her! I suppose it would be good insurance,’ and his eyes glittered as he looked at Dorian, ‘if this one here overreacts and threatens me again.’

  ‘Oh? Is that why you’re so skittish today?’ Jacques almost looked amused.

  ‘Funny, very funny. I must go check on my spider.’

  Quince left Asmara’s room, followed by Jacques.

  Outside Quince said to Jacques, ‘I’m surprised by your attitude, Jacques. I wouldn’t expect a spy to be so delicate.’

  ‘Delicate?’ Jacques frowned. ‘I do what I need to to protect Mance-Jolune. I happen to believe hurting the shadow mages hurts our kingdom, while for some reason you think it helps. My patron agrees.’

  ‘You have your supporters and I have mine.’ He smiled slowly. ‘Cooperating with people who don’t really want to cooperate? There is much more they could do for us, but they refuse to assist in my research, and I know there are things you and the generals have asked that they won’t do. We must move past this idea of ‘cooperating’. That’s not all. If you’d interrogated the Lakashan properly he would have confessed. You do understand what inquisitors are for, don’t you?’

  ‘The one giant problem with that, Quince, is that any shadow mage could have looked inside him and discovered the truth-’

  ‘Could have had him killed-’

  ‘And treason is too much of an abstract concept for these shadow mages, while the Lakashan is a close personal friend of Asmara. Even if he had committed treason, there’s a good chance she wouldn’t have cared. Then we would have had a problem. Are you completely blind to how people behave? Even a regular, non-shadow mage would be upset to hear their friend had been tortured and killed for treason! The risk was too great. I didn’t prevent the inquisitors from fully interrogating him out of squeamishness, Quince, or any sense of kindness. I prevented it because that was what was in the interests of Mance-Jolune.’

  ‘If that’s true find me a shadow mage that hasn’t manifested yet. Even you should see how useful a shadow mage that isn’t friendly with the others could be.’

  ‘I’m looking, and let me remind you, if you don’t work for me, I don’t work for you.’

  CHAPTER 37

  2 Mai, 1353

  The next three days dribbled by slowly for Bo. There was little to do at the Western Dartham Fortress except think, and he couldn’t help but think dark thoughts. The soldiers and servants eyed him askance and few talked to him.

  It’s been a long time since being Lakashan really mattered to anyone...

  And now, suddenly, he was distrusted by everyone he met. He forced a brave face, tried to laugh and joke with the servants, show that he was just like them. Few would be drawn into conversation with him though and he soon gave up. In a few days the young recruits from Mercôt would be here. He couldn’t squash his growing feeling of dread.

  On the morning of his third day in the fortress he was summoned to the yard. He collected his gear and watched as rows upon rows of men, most younger than Julietta, marched into the yard. They were a motley collection, all wearing different armour of varying quality. A handful rode horses. They were led by a young man on horseback, his armour shining and polished.

  When they were all through the gate a soldier from the fortress came down to speak with them. Bo listened intently as the officer roared out his commands.

  When he was finished the officer spoke to the man on horseback, who had since dismounted, and finally Bo was summoned over.

  ‘A Lakashan!’ the man in shining armour exclaimed. His skin was pale, he had fine brown hair, and something of a petulant turn to his mouth. Despite his young age he exuded confidence. This boy expected to be obeyed without question.

  ‘A Lakashan.’ The fortress soldier agreed. ‘He’ll be joining your company. He’s your responsibility now.’

  ‘But he’s our enemy!’ the young man sounded aghast, whether that was due to Bo’s nationality or because the soldier was questioning him, Bo couldn’t tell.

  ‘He was sent here by the King. He is to join your unit and fight for our country. I wasn’t asking your opinion on the matter, Lord Pruitt.’

  The young lord frowned darkly. He looked like he wanted to say something scathing to the soldier. ‘My father, the Viscount of Gaillac, will hear about this.’

  ‘I follow my orders, Lord Pruitt, and my orders are to send the Lakashan with the new recruits from Mercôt. If you have a problem with this, take it up with my superiors.

  ‘Be sure that I will.’ Lord Pruitt said dismissively before turning his attention to Bo. ‘We need old Lakashans now, do we?’

  ‘Not too old, my lord. I think you will find me useful, I’ve been with the Mercenaries Guild for over twenty years!’

  ‘We’re soldiers, not mercenaries. We fight with honour!’

  ‘Lord Pruitt, consider him a gift, someone in your unit will actually know how to fight. Now, there is a room in the fortress for you. Your men can stay in the barracks. Tomorrow morning you’ll leave for Dartham Spire.’

  Lord Pruitt spared Bo one more scathing glance before calling out to his unit, ‘Perry, Burn, Darcy, we head inside, get your men settled in the barracks!’

  Bo watched as three of the other young men on horseback detached from the group and followed Lord Pruitt into the fortress.

  Bo was left standing alone near the group of milling young men, unsure what to do. He forced his attention back to the new soldiers and saw some of the older men were getting them organized. With a sigh Bo headed into the group to talk to one of the men who seemed to know what he was doing.

  ‘So you are to join the Viscount of Gaillac’s army?’ The grizzled old man said.

  ‘Seems that way.’ Bo forced a smile.

  ‘Name?’

  ‘Amjerbo mer Shalla.’

  ‘Lakashan, eh? Normand Wyatt, Captain of Lord Pruitt’s personal guard.’ Captain Wyatt gave Bo a long measuring look. ‘You look like you know how to use a sword. You have your own equipment?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve been a mercenary for twenty years.’

  ‘And still alive, well, that’s certainly something. You’re willing to fight your countrymen?’

  ‘I’ve been in Mance-Jolune since I was sixteen,’ Bo said, trying to hide his weariness, knowing he was going to be repeating this often, ‘this is more my home than Lakasha.’

  Around them young men kicked up dust in the dry yard as they tried to organize themselves. The midday sun beat down relentlessly. There was nowhere to hide from it in the yard.

  ‘Well,’ the Captain said, ‘the King has sent you here. So be it.’

  A thought suddenly occurred to Bo, seeing the men he would be fighting with, ‘I fight with a greatsword. A spear or one-handed blade may be more useful if I am to fight in close quarters. I have money to buy a weapon, but...’

  Wyatt’s eyes widened briefly in surprise. ‘I see your point. Speak to the quartermaster, see what he can do.’ Then the captain gave him some quick instructions on where he should go, before turning his attention back to the task of organizing the Viscount’s forces.

  Bo found the man in question pacing near the supply wagons. He wasn’t saying much, but was waving his hands around a lot and making exasperated noises. When Bo told him his request the man turned his aggrieved gaze on him.

  ‘Should have organized yourself better, now it’s all on me.’ the man muttered to himself. ‘You have money?’

  Bo nodded and held up a silver coin.

  ‘Not enough to get the ball rolling.’ he muttered. ‘On the march as we are, where equipment is so hard to get...’

  The one coin turned into three. ‘I’m sure it will be easier to find something while we’re still at the fortress.’ Bo said, forcing a smile.

  ‘Who knows? I’ll see what I can find.’ and he quickly palmed Bo’s silver. ‘Off you go. I won’t forget the only Lakashan in our unit.’

  Despite the man’s poor humour, Bo smiled and thanked him, before heading to the barracks. He found himself in a dimly lit, long, low room packed with narrow bunk beds and men nearly three decades younger than him.

  With a sigh Bo sat down on the nearest unoccupied bed, unaccountably tired. Not as bad as it could have been. Captain Wyatt will be keeping an eye on me.

  Suddenly he wondered what would happen if Lord Pruitt ever found out he’d been suspected of treason. He suppressed a shudder as images of the cell beneath Manus came back to him.

  ‘Hey, you, who are you?’

  Bo nearly jumped and looked up to see a boy who couldn’t be much past fifteen looking at him curiously.

  He pushed down the swirling panic and said with false cheer, ‘Bo. I’ve just joined your group. And you are?

  ‘Just now? Where are you from? I’m Darcel Forrest, out of Gaillac!’ he said cheerfully.

  ‘I bet he’s from Talmont!’ another young man piped up. ‘And got here late! Darcy Telford couldn’t organize a pig in a pen! I’m Amaury.’

  ‘He’s certainly not from Gaillac proper, I’d recognize him.’ Darcel retorted.

  ‘You would not, you don’t know everyone from Gaillac!’ Amaury shot back.

  ‘Tarbes? Are you a Tarbes man?’ another man asked. ‘Basile Tailor, out of Tarbes.’

  ‘You don’t know a Tarbes man when you see him?’ Darcel replied, shocked at the very idea.

  ‘Got more people in Tarbes than Gaillac.’ Basile replied with equanimity.

  ‘You do not!’

  ‘That’s true, Bas, Gaillac proper is much bigger than Tarbes.’ Amaury added.

  ‘Bigger, perhaps, but Tarbes has more men. Crushed together, with not an inch of space.’ Basile insisted calmly. ‘You a Tarbes man?’

  ‘No...’ Bo said, at a loss of how to answer the questions being rapidly fired at him.

  ‘Where from?’ Darcel insisted.

  ‘I travel a lot.’

  ‘Ah, Gordes then. You’re one of Burnell Quesnal’s men?’

  ‘No,’ he sighed, ‘I-’

  ‘Hold on a moment! Perhaps he’s not from Mercôt!’

  This idea caused another flurry of activity from the young men. Most seemed to find the idea preposterous.

  They’ll realize soon enough, Bo thought, I may as well say it. And yet he hesitated. In the dark of the barracks no one had noticed he wasn’t Manunian. Bo slowly stood. It had to be said, and he was no coward. Never before had he been so afraid to name his birthplace.

  ‘Lakasha.’ Bo called above the din. ‘I was born in Lakasha, and I’ve lived here in Mance-Jolune for over twenty years.’

  ‘Lakasha? Why, that’s not anywhere near Mercôt!’ was the first reaction.

  ‘You mean Lakasha the people we’re fighting?’

  Bo nodded.

  This stunned the room into silence. The young men gathered around the bunks, sitting on the floor and on bags of clothes all looked at him in mute astonishment.

  Darcel was the first to speak. ‘I’m confused.’

  ‘You don’t look Lakashan.’ Amaury said.

  ‘Don’t look Lakashan!’ Bo exclaimed. ‘Young man, I think you’re the only person to ever say that to me!’

  ‘How many Lakashans have you met?’ another man exclaimed. ‘I’m Darriel, by the way, lived right next door to Amaury.’

  ‘The fellow in the boat back home is Lakashan.’ Amaury insisted.

  ‘He’s not Lakashan, he’s Chelleskan!’ Darriel insisted.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I suppose Mercôt is far from Lakasha.’ Bo murmured.

  ‘Aren’t we meant to be fighting you?’ Darcel asked. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Mance-Jolune is my home, and the King asked me to fight.’

  ‘Really? The King asked you to fight?’

  ‘Well, through his intermed-’

  ‘You met the King?’

  Bo smiled ruefully as he sat back down on his bed and the young men chattered animatedly. His smile slowly faded as he thought. These young men haven’t seen any fighting yet... Lord Pruitt wasn’t happy to have me, and Normand Wyatt had his suspicions... he wondered how long their carefree attitude would last.

  The next morning Lord Pruitt and his men departed the Western Dartham Fortress for the battlefields of Dartham.

  CHAPTER 38

  6 Mai, 1353

  Unlike before, the room was lit.

  ‘Are you all ready?’ Quince Abelard asked, his mouth twisted in annoyance at having so many people in his lab.

  ‘I’m ready.’ said Quince’s sorcerer, followed by Jacques sorcerer.

  ‘Dorian, are you prepared?’ Jacques asked.

  He nodded firmly. Asmara lay unconscious in the chair, her breathing calm and steady. Her sleeve was rolled up to her shoulder, leaving her left arm bare. The straps hung limply from the chair; Dorian had objected to their use.

  Quince swept the assembled people with one more annoyed glance and turned to the back of the room. Half-hidden in the shadows sat a row of boxes draped and covered with black cloth. Quince had darkened the room so quickly before that Dorian had not noticed them. Quince knelt down by the boxes and flipped up the covering. He unlocked a box and swung back the heavy iron bars. A black shape appeared in the entrance. Quince held out his arms and the dream spider emerged from the box and climbed onto his arms, its eight legs moving in a precise and intricate pattern.

  Dorian suppressed a shudder. He looked down at Asmara and suddenly wondered how he could endure this. I have too. He reminded himself. I can’t convince her not to do it, and I can’t leave her... all he’d been able to do was convince her to wait long enough to regain her strength after her original injuries had healed.

  Quince turned around, the spider held gently in his arms.

  ‘How come it’s not attacking you?’ Jacques asked, his face tight.

  ‘It knows me.’ Quince said in disgust at his ignorance. ‘It won’t attack me, I made it. Are you alright?’ he said to Dorian. ‘You look green.’

  ‘Unlike you, I’m not used to watching people get eaten by giant spiders.’

  ‘She will only take what she needs.’

  ‘It’s a she, is it?’ Jacques murmured. ‘You remember, Alphonse, Asmara’s safety is paramount.’

  The sorcerer nodded. ‘Don’t worry. She’ll be safe.’

  ‘You know, that’s my job too.’ Quince’s sorcerer added in an injured tone.

  ‘Enough.’ Quince said, silencing the conversation. ‘Are you ready? Go, darling,’ Quince said, his voice dripping with sweetness as he gently placed the creature on Asmara’s hand. ‘Take what you need, no one will hurt you this time, now feed on her, take her magic, drink it all up.’

  ‘She’s ok?’ Dorian asked, his face pale and sweaty.

  ‘Yes.’ Alphonse said. ‘We’ve finished with her, she won’t even know what happened.’

  Dorian knew though, he knew too well.

  ‘Are you alright?’

  ‘I’ll be fine.’

  ‘You should try and drink something, if you think you can keep it down.’

  ‘I’ll manage.’ Dorian replied, taking a seat next to Asmara, his eyes fixed on her. He’d lasted out the entire ordeal. After, he’d spent what felt like an eternity vomiting up everything he’d ever eaten while the sorcerers healed her horrifying injuries.

  ‘Alright.’ Alphonse said. ‘I’ll check on her every hour. She should wake up in a few days, though it will take longer than that for her to regain her full strength.’

  ‘I’m surprised you’re still standing.’ Dorian murmured.

  ‘You didn’t see as-’

  ‘I know.’ Dorian cut him off curtly. He hadn’t spent the entire time vomiting, but once he’d recovered he hadn’t been allowed in to see Asmara while the sorcerers worked on her. It had taken Alphonse and a team of sorcerers five hours to finish with her. It had taken the spider forty-five minutes to consume... he didn’t want to think about it.

  ‘I had assistance. I couldn’t fix an injury like that on my own. We had three other mages in here, including Quince’s man. I’m going to rest. I’ll be back in an hour.’

  The sorcerer left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

  The room was small, and right next to the quarters of Alphonse and the other mages that formed the medical staff of the palace. Most of the floor space was taken up by Asmara’s narrow bed.

  Dorian sighed and slowly let his head fall into his hands. They said she was ok, but he wouldn’t believe them, not until she woke up and smiled at him.

  CHAPTER 39

  10 Mai, 1353

  Dartham Town, situated atop Dartham Spire, had an excellent view of the battlefield below. The town itself was not much to look at. It had been built from the rock of the spire and blended into it. Squat buildings and steep, dusty streets clung to the top of the spire. The town was steep enough that turning a corner you could frequently find yourself with a dizzying view out to the plains below. Some of the drops had railings along them, many didn’t. Despite being able to view all of the lower levels of the town from most places, getting around was difficult. Carts and horses had to take long, winding switchbacks to get anywhere. People on foot could take the many steep stairs or ladders, which often seemed to lead to alleyways or someone’s back-yard. Occasionally, Julietta took a ladder and found herself standing on a roof, with no other option but to jump off the building or head back the other way. The ladders, not all of which were fixed (and many of which seemed to move around as was convenient), sometimes led to nowhere but a nice view. Julietta had been here only a few days but was starting to think she either needed to get her own ladder or forget the indignity and just start floating around. Dartham Town was an alarming, confusing place.