Chapter Twenty-Eight

Pariahs

'There it is.' Davion pointed needlessly. Trestaine was a large, square, boxy city made almost entirely out of stone. It was uniformly grey and dull, with hardly anything artistic within.

Kestren's capital had been built purely with practicality and defence in mind. Until the Dragon Knights had established a presence in the province, it had been home to numerous dragons. Large urban settlements were especially vulnerable to fire dragons, which explained why the walls bristled with ballistae.

Mirana also spotted several trebuchets, catapults and mangonels at the ready. Kestren had also been beset by war many times over the centuries. Mirana was not entirely sure why. From what she had learned back in Rasolir, the province had little in the way of resources apart from stone—and most of that seemed to have gone into building Trestaine. She could see yawning pits further away, and the nearest mountains were marred by huge chunks of missing rock.

Trestaine looked smaller than Rasolir, but it was common knowledge that there was almost an entire settlement under the streets themselves.

'It's not exactly vibrant.' Mirana remarked.

'Are all human cities so dull?' Fymryn asked.

'I'd like to think that Rasolir isn't. But who knows what Shabarra has done to it since we left. It's been six years.'

Marci sighed sadly. Mirana knew where her thoughts were now. She would be very surprised if the slums Marci where had once lived were still intact.

Mirana knew that they could never go back. Once, she had sworn to return and reclaim the Solar Throne. It had not taken her long to conclude that returning to Rasolir was an impossible dream. Besides, she was now devoted to Selemene.

Mirana glanced at Fymryn, the doubts beginning to churn again. Mirana had met many liars during her time. She could not claim to be an expert in spotting them, she had walked into too many traps to say otherwise. The trap Gwanwyn and Nikdo had organised had been but one of several, and every time it was thanks to Marci that they had escaped. If anything, Marci was better at detecting falsehood, though she was not infallible either.

What she could say with certainty was this: Eserren was not a liar.

The Dragon Knight had seen something to make her hate Selemene, and it had something to do with Caewyn. Mirana had wondered where Luna and her Moon Riders went, for they had often left the Temple without explanation.

Selemene had always said that they were intercepting raiders, protecting local settlements, safeguarding travellers, things like that. Was that true?

It had to be. Selemene loved her. Surely She would not lie to her.

Mirana felt guilt now as her eyes fell upon Marci. Perhaps Selemene had lied to her, because she had lied to Selemene. At the time, she had mostly convinced herself that she was being truthful. Tell a lie enough, and you would start to believe it yourself.

Marci was gazing at Trestaine, absently fidgeting with the eye-shaped amulet. She kept drawing it from under her tunic and turning it in her fingers. Mirana knew what was troubling her, amongst many other worries. The poor woman had so many cares and fears burdening and preying upon her mind.

If it was within her power, she would have gifted Marci with a life of ease and comfort. But Marci would not have accepted. She was just too stubborn for that, too beholden to her own promises. Nobody was born to do anything, but Marci had always been encouraged to put the needs of others before her own.

Mirana winced. Her leg still throbbed, and every movement sent dagger-sharp shards of pain through it. For the moment, it remained uninfected.

'Let's go.' Mirana spoke at last. Marci took Sagan's reins and whistled. Sagan obeyed and plodded along in her wake.

Mirana remembered meeting Sagan. She remembered being sent to find and tame a young night-beast to prove herself. And in Selemene's eyes, she had done so by subduing Sagan and earning his loyalty.

Another lie.


The Nightsilver Woods, five years ago...

She waited in the darkness, the trembling in her hands only suppressed because she clutched the staff so tightly. The white wood was smooth, both ends studded with silver.

It was a precaution. She was not to kill. Those were her instructions, and she needed to succeed.

Though Selemene had made an exception for her, there had been a catch. In order for Marci to be allowed to stay with her, she had to pass a rite of initiation usually reserved for the Moon Riders and the higher ranked clerics: subdue and capture a night-beast.

If she failed, she and Marci would be cast out and forced to leave the Nightsilver Woods. It was one of the few places they might be safe, so failure was not an option.

Marci had given up everything for her. She had risked her life for her. Mirana would not fail her now.

Mirana crouched in the undergrowth, trying to suppress her fearful breathing. The sky was inky with clouds, concealing the moon from sight. Was that good or bad? It might make hiding easier, but they said that the creatures of the Nightsilver Woods could see even in the blackest of nights.

And they could no doubt hear and smell her.

She had volunteered without hesitation to help keep Marci safe. But she was no fighter. Marci was. Every time they had been attacked, Mirana had been of little help. She'd tried to be of use, and Marci had tried to teach her, but the martial arts did not come naturally to her as they did for her handmaiden. At most, she been able to whack one or two bandits and highwaymen with a crude staff Marci had fashioned for her, but that was all. Those times had been few and far between, as Marci had always rushed in first to protect her.

Mirana had always felt useless in those fights, but she had been of use afterwards. She might not have been a natural fighter, but she seemed to have a knack for treating injuries. She and Marci had earned plenty of sympathy from village midwives and apothecaries after a few troublesome fights, when Mirana had hauled a bleeding or battered Marci into their homes. They had shown Mirana how to tie a poultice, stitch up a cut, and so on.

She wished that Marci was here. She felt safe with Marci. This would have been so much easier.

Mirana heard a faint rustling in the undergrowth. She lifted the ceremonial staff, her heart beating faster, her breathing more urgent. Something was moving amongst the trees, an indistinct shape.

A night-beast?

Mirana's heart beat against her ribs, as if it was trying to break free. She was shaking now.

A soft growl reached her ears. Leaves rustled and split under the paws of the beast. The clouds parted at last, and Mirana gasped as the silvery light revealed the night-beast advancing on her.

She had been taught a little about these creatures. This one was a lunar-tiger, a young male. He was not bothering to creep up on her, because he knew that she was naught but easy prey.

The moonlight glowed in his white and grey fur and his eyes shone, the pupils wide in the semi-darkness. Mirana saw the claws glinting like silver as they extended from the night-beast's paws. He growled and bared his fangs.

What would Marci do?

Mirana stood and held out the staff. Marci would have stood her ground.

The lunar-tiger paused. The woman before him was no longer easy prey. By standing, she presented herself as an enemy rather than a meal.

These creatures were intelligent, Mirana knew that. But until this lunar-tiger was subdued, he would act as his nature demanded. Even when... if she somehow defeated him, he would need to be trained lest he revert to his bestial nature.

Mirana moved forwards, the staff at the ready. The lunar-tiger advanced too, growling and low to the ground.

He was going to pounce.

Though he was a young one, he was still large and strong. If he leapt upon her, the impact would break bones. She would be helpless, pinned by his paws, and he would bite into her throat. Those fangs would sever her spinal cord and tear open her throat.

Either that, or he would simply crush her skull. His bite would be more than strong enough.

Mirana tensed, bobbing on her feet as she had seen Marci do.

She saw the lunar-tiger gather himself, wiggling his back legs to make sure that his claws were not caught in the soil. And then he leapt.

Mirana threw herself aside and the night-beast passed over her head. One curved claw grazed her arm and tore her sleeve, the light touch enough to draw blood.

Mirna rolled, stood and whipped the staff round as the night-beast spun on the spot. The silver-studded white wood struck the night-beast in the ear.

Mirana's brief feeling of triumph vanished in a heartbeat. He barely recoiled. All she had done was annoy him.

With a roar, the lunar-tiger reared up and swung at her with a mighty paw. Mirana stumbled back, bringing up the staff. She tripped and fell onto her back, which saved her life.

The night-beast's paw struck the still raised staff and tore it from her hands, sending it spinning into the darkness. She heard it clatter off the trees, useless to her now.

The night-beast moved forwards, intending to pin her down. Mirana tried to scramble away, but it was hopeless. Even if she ran, the lunar-tiger would catch her. He would run her down and tear her apart.

The night-beast paused, his ears twitching.

Both he and Mirana turned their heads in time to see the staff spinning through the air. It smacked the lunar-tiger's flank and he staggered, roaring more with anger than pain.

Marci charged from the darkness. There was no hesitation and no fear—no fear for her own safety, anyway. She rammed into the beast shoulder first, bowling him over.

Mirana jumped to her feet and seized the staff as Marci grappled with the lunar-tiger. Mirana moved to hit him with the staff, but Marci drove both feet into the night-beast, pushing him away. With a single movement she stood and faced the night-beast.

The beast roared at her. Marci stood her ground, holding out a hand to warn Mirana to stay away.

It was seemingly absurd, but Mirana very nearly sobbed. Marci would willingly let this creature eat her if it meant saving Mirana even for a moment.

The beast sprang at her, Marci moved at the same moment. As he hurtled through the air, forelimbs extended and claws arrayed to kill, Marci deliberately lifted her legs. She landed on her back, using the momentum to slide under the lunar-tiger. When he landed, she spun round, pushed off her hands and feet, ran forwards and sprang onto the lunar-tiger's back.

He roared and bucked and spun, trying to shake her off. Marci clung on, throwing her weight around in an attempt to unbalance him. It didn't matter to her if he fell atop her and crushed her, she would save Mirana or die trying.

The lunar-tiger obeyed his nature just as Marci did her own. They said that people were born to be something. Mirana had doubted this even though she had been born a Princess, because Marci had been uplifted from slum-rat to handmaiden, her fate forever changed. But perhaps Marci had been born to be something: a protector.

Mirana ran forwards and with a cry she broke the staff over the night-beast's head.

Dazed, he stumbled. Marci's efforts caused him to overbalance and he fell onto his side. Mirana heard a bone crack and knew that it was Marci's.

Despite the pain, Marci crawled atop the night-beast and pushed his head down against the ground. Mirana picked up one half of the staff and pressed it against the lunar-tiger's jowl.

He growled, but Marci pushed harder with her left arm. As well as fracturing a leg, she had also dislocated her right shoulder. Though Mirana did not know it, she had cracked three ribs too. Yet she fought through the pain anyway. She fought for Mirana. She would give her life for Mirana.

The lunar-tiger sensed this. He knew. As he obeyed his nature, so too did she obey hers. Her fate had changed once, and his would too.

The lunar-tiger huffed and relaxed, no longer fighting. He knew that he was beaten.

'Marci!' Mirana reached out, accidentally touching Marci's injured shoulder. Marci winced. 'Sorry! Marci, they told you to stay away.'

Marci climbed off the lunar-tiger with difficulty, balancing on her uninjured leg. She limped to the nearest tree and leaned against it, then reached round with her good arm. Mirana winced as she heard a wet squishing sound. Marci had just forced her shoulder back into the socket.

'Marci,' Mirana approached the girl as she swayed, her face pale and her eyes watering. 'Oh, Marci!' She caught her and pulled her close, the lunar-tiger forgotten. 'Marci...' She held her, unwilling to let go.

Marci tapped her on the back. Mirana gently released her, holding her up so that she didn't have to put pressure on her broken leg. Marci blinked her eyes clear, then placed her open palm against her sternum.

My life is yours.

Mirana choked on a sob and felt tears slide down her face. Something plodded closer and she turned her head to see the lunar-tiger approach. He acknowledged Mirana with a glance, then stepped closer and bumped his head against Marci's left shoulder. Marci smiled and stroked the night-beast's head. He huffed contentedly.

'Luna will try even harder to throw you out now.' Mirana warned.

Marci rolled her eyes and bumped her fist against her own shoulder, wincing slightly. Wrong shoulder. But the meaning was clear. Luna could try to throw her out, but she would not succeed. Where Mirana went, she did too.

Mirana chuckled. 'Come on. If this lunar-tiger is now your friend, he can carry you. I'll help you onto his back.' Mirana looked over at the night-beast, who was watching them with interest. It took some doing, but she managed to help Marci onto the tiger's back. She was light, but Mirana was trying not to hurt her injured leg. The night-beast did not resist.

'Marci,' Mirana reached up and took her handmaiden's hand. 'Thank you, for everything.'

Marci smiled down at her and intertwined her fingers with Mirana's.

'We could always tell Luna that you did try to help, but tripped on the way.'

Marci frowned, then shrugged. Perhaps that would be better.

'We're going to have to think of a name for our new friend. Well then, Marci? What do you think?'


Now…

Trestaine was no prettier from the ground. The builders of the city seemed to like straight edges and nothing else. They also seemed to favour grey over any other colour.

Fymryn pulled up her hood as they approached. 'Should I wait outside?'

'That might be a good idea.' Mirana answered.

'What about Sagan?'

'They'll have seen him.' Davion said. 'But as I said, there are supposed to be chapels devoted to Selemene here. They may have seen a night-beast before.'

Marci heard massive gears clank and grind, the stone doors rumbling outwards to receive them. Fymryn nodded to them, then backed away.

'We'll meet you here as soon as we find somebody who can mend Mirana's leg.' Davion promised. 'Take some food. We might be a while.'

'Thanks.' Fymryn started to rummage around in Sagan's saddlebags. She found some bread and hurried off into the shadows as the gates fully opened. Marci took Sagan's reins and led the way with Davion.

Nobody appeared to waiting, which was odd. Marci recalled that the guards of Haupstadt had questioned them as soon as they had arrived.

Maybe they did things differently here. Perhaps they had seen the Dark Moon Order clothing and Sagan, and had simply assumed they were here to visit a chapel.

They passed under the titanic archway overhead, walking into a wide grey square flanked by buildings which were all harsh, straight edges.

The blades of the city guard were all harsh, straight edges too. The gears clanked again as the guards began to close in, weapons at the ready.

Marci's stomach dropped, but she instinctively snapped into a combat stance.

They knew who they were. The Dragon Knights must have tipped the authorities off.

The gates were closing behind them, and there were far too many guards for them to defeat. Even if Marci tapped into her full power, or if Davion transformed, they would die. The guards were armed with everything short of trebuchets.

Marci exchanged a look with Davion. He understood.

Marci turned, stuck her fingers in her mouth, and whistled sharply, thrice.

Sagan spun and ran towards the shutting gates. Mirana shouted at him to turn around, but he ignored her. Marci's commands took precedence over her own. Even if Marci had not subdued him, she had spent more time with him, spent hours training him, and she actually knew him better than Mirana did.

The gates continued to close, but they were too slow. Sagan narrowly cleared and ran down the narrow path, weaving to avoid the incoming arrows and bolts of the men atop the walls. If Fymryn ran after her too, she did not see her.

Still screaming futilely at Sagan, Mirana turned her head. She thought she saw Marci running at somebody as the gates swung shut behind her.


Davion felt the scales pushing at his skin. The song broke across him like a weave, but he forced himself to concentrate. If he turned here and now, many innocents would die. He might even turn on Marci. And no matter how powerful the transformation would make him, he would die here.

Marci was running at a group of guards when she came to an abrupt halt. Davion quickly saw what had stopped her. More guards were running into the square, surrounding them and cutting off any chances of escape. Many of them were armed with bows and crossbows.

They had even set up a couple of scorpions. This was a fight they could only lose.

'Marci!' Davion yelled. A surge of sound and pain burst in his head and he lowered his head, his face screwed up. A laboured groan broke from him and he dropped his sword, both hands coming up to clasp his temples, as if he could somehow squeeze the din from his skull. 'Don't… don't fight!' Davion forced the words out as loudly as he could.

Slyrak was trying to take over, but he could not let him emerge. Their only chance of survival was surrender.

Marci saw him fall to his knees and hurried over, ignoring the men telling her to hold still. She ducked as a bolt was shot at her, barely pausing.

As Davion almost literally wrestled for control, Marci reached him and dropped to her knees. He felt her hands against his stubble-lined cheeks, her palms warm and her fingertips calloused.

Through streaming eyes threatening to change, he saw her. She was even closer than she had been by the river.

He remembered the kiss, and weirdly he found himself wondering if he should kiss her. It might be the last chance he would ever get.

The anger burned inside him at the thought, a fury which was not his own. Slyrak was raging for control, and Davion knew that if he succumbed now, Marci would die. Slyrak was out of patience where she was concerned.

He wanted to kill her.

Davion would not let that happen. If he had to, he would kill himself first.

The scales were pushing through his skin, tearing through his clothes. Blood dripped from his skin and he felt the wings and tail growing beneath his flesh, threatening to burst from him.

'Stand away!' One of the guards jabbed his halberd at them.

Marci ignored him. Knowing that Davion was losing his battle, desperate to somehow stop the change, she slapped him.

Though Slyrak's rage peaked, the sudden burst of pain was enough to rouse Davion. He fought harder, trying to force his thoughts into coherence.

We'll die if you take over. Both of us. You can't do this!

He felt Slyrak resist more than anything else. The song in his head grew louder, drowning out the noise around them.

But he felt Marci being torn away. On reflex, he reached out for her. His hand was swelling to inhuman proportions, claws breaking through fingertips covered by red scales. Marci was struggling against her captors, but a pair of crossbows levelled at her made her desist.

Stop this! I can't let you do this! If you take over, she will die! Marci will die!

This time, Slyrak actually responded.

Good.

The shock Davion felt was swiftly replaced by anger, and this time it was his own. And he knew what he had to do.

Davion picked up his sword.

Before anybody could act, he lifted it and slammed the pommel into his own head. Stars exploded behind his eyes. His vision blurred and swayed. Everything spun and he felt sick.

If he had been capable of rational thought before he collapsed, he might have found the expressions of the spectators amusing. They probably thought that he had gone completely crazy.

Davion felt them seize his arms. Slyrak was still angry, but with Davion's consciousness fading there was little he could do.

He saw Marci staring at him as she was hauled away. He wanted to tell her that everything would be fine, that they could somehow escape and reunite with Mirana and Fymryn.

He wanted to tell her…

The blackness descended at last, and he forgot what he wanted to say.


'Mum? Can you hear something?'

Eserren brought her horse to a halt and pulled a warhammer from her saddle. Caewyn used a cranequin to pulled back her bowstring, loaded the crossbow with a regular steel bolt, and prepared herself. She kept the crossbow pointed at the ground, just in case whoever was coming their way was an innocent.

They could both hear desperate shouting now. The voice was familiar.

Eserren lifted the hammer. Even she struggled to use her massive bardiche on horseback. The long-handled cavalry hammer was much easier to manage whilst riding. 'Get ready.'

Caewyn lifted her crossbow to her shoulder, but kept her fingers off the trigger.

'Hold!' Eserren barked.

Caewyn aimed her crossbow at the ground again as the night-beast came to a skidding halt, the Princess of the Moon riding side-saddle awkwardly, held in place by straps and belts. She aimed her bow at them, and Caewyn noticed the tears on her face.

'Drop the weapon!' Eserren ordered. Caewyn took aim at Mirana.

Sagan growled, but the fight drained from Mirana and she let her weapon drop.

Even if she was a servant of Selemene, Caewyn still felt sorry for her. Marci, Davion and Fymryn were missing. Perhaps something terrible had happened to them. 'What's wrong?' She asked on impulse, purely out of compassion.

'They've captured your friends, haven't they?' Eserren guessed.

Mirana nodded. 'They were waiting for us. Marci… Marci told Sagan to run. I couldn't stop him.' She sobbed, leant forwards and covered her face with her hands.

Covered by Caewyn, even though Mirana was clearly in no condition to fight, Eserren dismounted and retrieved the Princess' bow.

Eserren sighed. 'Listen to me, Princess.'

Mirana lifted her face from her hands and stared at the Dragon Knight.

'I intend to bring you and your friends to Dragon Keep alive. I cannot promise that you will be safe there, but I have not forgotten what your friend did for me and Caewyn. I honour my debts, Princess. Believe that.'

Mirana swallowed. 'What are you going to do?'

Eserren climbed back into her saddle before answering. 'You're going to come with us. We're going to enter Trestaine, where I will take your friends into my custody. If you come quietly, I will speak for you all at Dragon Keep. I don't know what your friend truly is, nor do I understand what has happened to Davion, but you are not without honour or decency. I will remember that when you are brought before the Fathers.'

Mirana swallowed again. 'I won't let them hurt Marci.'

'I would expect nothing less.' Eserren extended her arm. 'But from now on, you are my responsibility. And the same will go for your friends. That means that it will be my duty to protect you all until we reach Dragon Keep. On my life, I swear it.'

Mirana hesitated. She really had no choice if she wanted Marci to live. She slowly held out her arm and clasped Eserren's forearm.

'Good.' Eserren released her arm. 'Ride between me and Caewyn. Don't try to run. Caewyn will shoot you if she has to.'

'I'd really rather not.' Caewyn added.

Mirana coaxed Sagan into position. Caewyn kept her crossbow loaded, but made sure that it was not pointed at Mirana. She could quickly aim and trigger it if she had to, and Mirana knew it.

Mirana silently prayed as they rode towards the ugly city, praying for her friends to still be alive and well when they arrived.

She even prayed for Fymryn.


Kashurra looked out from the window of the spymaster's office, now one of two he operated from. This one looked out across the other side of the city, towards the coast. The sea glittered in the far distance like a field of diamonds stretching into the sky.

His birthplace was somewhere far beyond that. Nobody actually knew the truth, for he had always claimed that he came from another city within the Imperium.

Since taking up the post of spymaster, he had carefully culled the ranks of Janulus' loyal spies and replaced them with men and women he could trust.

He still had to keep them in the dark though. He had chosen intelligent agents. A spy with no brains was a liability. Though he needed his spies to follow his orders without question and not think too deeply about their actions, he still needed them to be clever.

Shabarra had not questioned his imprisonment and removal of so many of Janulus' spies. He had simply assumed that they had been part of Janulus' plot and were being punished accordingly.

The executioner was going to have a busy week.

Kashurra examined the wax seal on the scroll he held in his hand. A perfect seal. He had the only copy of the royal seal, which nobody else knew about.

'You summoned me, Viceroy?' This came from a short, stocky man standing in the doorway. Kashurra had not heard him arrive, which spoke volumes about the man's stealthiness.

'Yes, Tethan.' Tethan was one of the few spies once employed by Janulus who remained alive. He had not been high in the pecking order, but now he was Kashurra's highest ranked agent. He was grateful for his sudden rise up the ladder, and he was good at his job. 'I have new orders for you and the other agents.' He held out the scroll.

Tethan approached, his steps careful and silent. He took the scroll, broke the seal and read the orders thoroughly. He was committing them to memory, since he was expected to destroy the scroll afterwards. 'Blythen?' he murmured. 'He runs a shop down in the Old District.'

'You know him?'

'Not personally, but I've heard rumours. They say he sells dangerous ingredients.' Tethan recalled. 'The guard never arrested him, and Janulus never told us to watch him or anything.'

'Janulus was working with him.' Kashurra lied. 'He was ordering the ingredients needed to make explosives.'

Tethan did not gasp, widen his eyes or do anything which would give away surprise. Amongst his qualities, Kashurra had noted that the man had a steely nerve and an impassive face. Why Janulus had not made better use of him, he did not know.

'I need you to deal with him.' Kashurra continued. 'He is dangerous. Make sure that he does not remain as such.'

Tethan did not ask him to elaborate. 'As you command.'

'His explosives are to moved to these locations.' Kashurra handed over another scroll.

Now Tethan asked a question, though his expression was still neutral: 'What for, Viceroy?'

'Our God Emperor has found a use for them. More than that, I cannot say.'

'I understand.' Kashurra seriously doubted that Tethan truly knew. If he did, his life would have been forfeit. 'It shall be as you command.'

'Good man.' Kashurra forced a smile. 'Report to me when it is done. Report only to me.'

Tethan bowed and left the room quickly and quietly, leaving Kashurra alone with his burdens.

Many lives would be forfeit soon. More would follow later. All victories demanded sacrifice.

It would be a long time before they were either victorious or defeated.

Kashurra locked the door and returned to his desk. He dipped the quill into the inkwell, unfurled a scroll, and began to write slowly, carefully and methodically.

One day, his deeds would need to be explained and the truth laid bare. He did not know if he could be forgiven, but he hoped that he would at least be understood.