Midnor is a vast city, more extensive than High Delnor, but it isn't the capital despite its size and position and nor does it appear opulent.

  Ardlan, the major, and I ride through a gatehouse where the guards sketch a salute. Ardlan speaks quietly to one for a few minutes, getting directions for the governor's residence, and then we heel the horses into a trot. Behind us, the battalion continues its journey around the city perimeter while we head inside to exchange pleasantries and information.

  Supplies to enable the Last Hope to continue its journey should await the soldiers at the west gate. The empire’s machinery is well-oiled. Sin-hawks had been dispatched from the capital before we left, ensuring everything we needed was ready for our arrival.

  Something I find bizarre is the absence of a city wall despite the entrance fortification. As I look about, wondering why, I discover the answer. The buildings hereabouts are low and functional, with very few adornments save for signs that indicate a particular trade or service being offered. Yet it appears from their crumbling brickwork that the old city walls have been dismantled and used to provide materials as the population expanded.

  Despite studying a lot of recent history to help provide cover on missions, I have no idea about Midnor’s. Yet whatever their past, it’s their future I’m worried about.

  Occasional town guardsmen are visible, but it’s easy to tell they aren’t used to combat and are, in fact, mostly past their prime. Without a city wall, without anyone to protect them, this will be one of the first major cities to fall before Nogoth’s army.

  A pack of filthy but happy children, perhaps five or six years of age, run by with sticks, chasing a chicken along the dusty street, trying to catch their squawking prey. Their laughter should lift my spirits, but it will change to screams before long. They’ll never escape capture and will be dragged away by monsters to another world unless, of course, they’re slaughtered and eaten here.

  Everyone we pass looks at us with curiosity. I wonder what reaction I’d receive if I lowered my hood. However, a few steps later, I see the answer. Fading wanted posters with my likeness and description are plastered on every street corner. I keep my hood raised.

  Half an hour later, we dismount before a low, brown building with a solitary bored guard standing outside. A young lad runs over to take our mounts' reins and leads them away to an adjacent stable.

  ‘The governor’s expecting you. You were spotted this morning,’ the guard offers when we approach, banging on the heavy door next to him.

  It opens inward, and we’re met and escorted by a nimble, grey-haired woman carrying a tray laden with food down several long corridors and out into a pleasant, sunlit courtyard.

  ‘The governor will be with you shortly. Help yourself to refreshments,’ she says before hurrying off.

  Whilst Conrol eats, Ardlan and I decide to look around.

  The courtyard walls appear ancient, yet they add to the charm. Set into the crumbling mortar are perches upon which several hooded sin-hawks sit quietly. As I step toward them, they whistle softly in greeting, aware of my presence. Darkest blue with yellow-tipped wings, hooked beaks and sharp talons, they’re a deadly and beautiful predator, yet if raised from hatching, they bond to humans and are as docile with us as they’re intelligent.

  ‘I’ve often wondered why they’re called sin-hawks. Do you know?’ I ask Ardlan.

  He scratches his chin as if he’s trying to recollect the answer.

  ‘It’s the tear-dropped red plumage beneath their eyes that gives them their name. It’s said they cry tears of blood as they witness the sins of humankind upon their travels. Now I think it will be a sin to let the Major eat all the food, so please excuse me!’

  I take a few moments to gently fuss the birds’ necks, rubbing my fingers together before I do so, ensuring they’re aware of my impending touch.

  Turning away, I take in the tranquillity of this private oasis.

  A pond with a small, tinkling fountain creates a sense of peace, while a dozen small green trees bearing apples sit in red pots arranged around the perimeter. Rectangular tubs hold beautiful flowers, and someone obviously takes pride and joy in maintaining this place.

  I love fruit and can’t resist helping myself to a rosy apple. I bite into the skin, enjoying the sweet flesh and juice.

  ‘A murderer and a thief!’ Conrol mutters, yet his bitterness doesn’t spoil the tranquillity.

  Ignoring him as I crunch happily, I investigate the carved stone benches arranged around the fountain. It takes me a moment to realise that there’s a partial mosaic on the floor around them. It’s old and faded, barely visible, for the majority of the ground is covered in newly fashioned flagstones.

  I walk around the courtyard, trying to work out what it's depicting. I kneel down, carefully brushing aside a little dust to see the faded image of an armoured woman, standing sword in hand before a huge mirror, then almost drop the apple core in shock. Could it be a World Gate she’s standing in front of, and who is she?’

  ‘I see you’re admiring some of this old city's history,’ says a warm voice.

  A jovial rounded man ambles across the courtyard, arms spread wide in welcome.

  ‘Not many people are interested in the old, only in the new. That applies to people too. As we age, we find ourselves ignored and, worse, forgotten!’

  His self-deprecating remark is warming, but I can also detect a subtle fakeness to his charm.

  ‘I’m Garbor, the governor here. Welcome to Midnor. You must be Major Conrol,’ he says, bowing slightly, ‘and you are Captain?’

  ‘Ardlan, of The Last Hope.’

  ‘Really? The Last Hope. I can only hope you aren’t staying too long then.’ The governor chuckles mirthlessly. ‘There’s virtually no crime in this city. It would be good to keep it that way! Wouldn’t you agree?’

  Ardlan’s face darkens, but he says nothing, just staring hard at the governor. That kind of response must be the norm, but the governor outranks him, and he has to swallow the insult. Yes, Garbor’s welcome is as fake as his smile, and I’m perhaps unreasonably angry for Ardlan and his men.

  Somewhat uncomfortable, Garbor turns his attention back to me.

  ‘So, who are you, and how can I address you, my lady? You’ve piqued my interest, hiding under your noble’s robes and in the company of such nefarious types. Excepting the major, of course,’ he hurriedly adds.

  I pull back my hood.

  ‘My name is Malina. Most people just call me The King Slayer. You choose.’

  Garbor steps back in shock so quickly that he trips over a flower pot and squashes the beautiful blooms beneath him. Moaning in fear, he rolls off, then, as he recovers his feet, positions himself behind Major Conrol.

  ‘Shouldn’t she be dead?’ Garbor squeaks.

  Ardlan laughs at the governor’s fearful reaction and smiles warmly at me.

  ‘It appears news of your pardon has travelled slower than news of your crime.’

  ‘As the captain says, she’s been pardoned, however unjust that may seem,’ Conrol says coldly.

  Ignoring his dourness, I fix the governor with my stare.

  ‘Who is the woman on the mosaic, governor?’

  Having decided I won’t harm him, he shuffles from behind Conrol and shrugs.

  ‘How would I know? Midnor was built from the ruins of a crumbling ancient fortress about five hundred years ago. Whoever she was is long forgotten.’

  ‘Take a look,’ I say, beckoning Conrol and Ardlan over. ‘Tell me what you see.’

  ‘A queen of some kind standing in front of a mirror. What of it?’ Conrol growls.

  ‘It looks like a World Gate to me.’

  Conrol’s face turns red.

  ‘I thought you’d given up on peddling that idiocy. You’ve tricked yourself a pardon, so why keep up the charade?’ Conrol’s hands clench and unclench. The anger burning inside never seems to diminish.

  ‘If it’s a mirror, then why isn’t she reflected in it?’ Ardlan observes, kneeling down and rubbing his chin.

  ‘Oh, for the sake of the gods.’ Conrol exclaims in exasperation, turning back to a confused-looking Garbor. ‘Thank you for your hospitality, but we don’t intend to stay. However, I want to know if you’ve heard anything from Pine Hold or Sea Hold since you received the news of our coming. It would save us a journey if you had.’

  Garbor points at four empty perches.

  ‘I’ve sent and lost four birds. Never in my days has that happened. I sent another to Iron Hold, and the governor there responded immediately. Said they hadn’t had any timber or fish for a couple of weeks but weren’t worried. It could be there’s a sickness they don’t want to spread, or they’re late with their tithes. You know how it is.’

  Major Conrol grunts but says nothing, scratching the new beard on his chin. After this long on the road, I’m the only one who hasn’t got one.

  ‘Send a sin-hawk to Commander Farsil at High Delnor.’ Conrol commands. ‘Let him know that as no news has been received from Pine Hold and Sea Hold, the Last Hope are heading off immediately. We should be at Iron Hold in six days, and our objective within three weeks.’

  ‘Let’s go,’ Major Conrol orders, striding purposefully from the courtyard with Ardlan close behind.

  I grab two apples from a tree before I leave and take a final look back.

  As if in a dream, the courtyard is covered in rubble, a blackened smoking ruin, with half-eaten corpses scattered about, before it returns to normal.

  ‘You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,’ Garbor smiles nervously, relieved we’re going so quickly.

  ‘I’m looking at one right now if you don’t do one, simple thing.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Garbor gulps, sweat running down his face, thinking I’m making a personal threat.

  ‘Get everyone out of this city and head north to Icelandia. If you’re still here in a couple of months, you’ll be dead. An army of fey will come from the west and wash this city away in a sea of blood.’

  ‘Hah. You had me worried for a minute.’

  Garbor’s wobbly jowls shake with forced mirth, although he looks perturbed by my words.

  ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ I reply, then hurry after the others.

  Will I forever be disbelieved until it’s too late? The blood magic stirs within me. I could use it quickly, make him believe, and help save the city.

  No. I admonish myself firmly, striding after the others. But the temptation is growing, and it’s getting so hard to resist.

  ***

  Sometimes banter around the fire continues long into the night, but tiredness is getting to everyone this evening. The pace since we left High Delnor has been fierce, and tonight we’ve stopped later than usual.

  The horses had been cared for first. Despite initially being unfamiliar and indifferent about their mounts, the men of the Last Hope have now formed a special bond with these noble animals. To see them brushing down, feeding, watering, fussing or even talking to their horses has shown me these hard men also have a soft side.

  There’s definitely hope for the salvation of their souls … if only they live long enough.

  I take a wooden bowl of meat and vegetable stew from Yeldom and lean back against a twisted tree. The roaring fire, jovial company and tasty food should fill me with warmth, but despite them, I’m not feeling at my best. My stomach is unsettled and bloated, and I force myself to take a mouthful, chew and swallow.

  There’s a loud slap, and someone swears, causing a ripple of laughter. We’re travelling through a marshy region fuelled by meltwater from large hills to the north, and the insects are annoying everyone. I’ve consciously chosen downwind of the fire, knowing the smoke will keep them away from me until it burns out.

  We’d stopped at several small towns along the way to Iron Hold, but credit to Conrol and Ardlan, they don’t take any privileges their rank might allow. No baths, shaving, or dining in a tavern. They sleep in bedrolls and eat around campfires with the men and, like me, have taken their turns preparing food.

  Even above the stew’s aroma, I can smell myself. We all stink because we’ve travelled light with just one set of clothes. Every river or lake we come across serves to replenish our water, but also a brief respite as we submerse ourselves, fully clothed, to try and rinse the filth away. We never truly succeed. None of us will step foot in this marsh though.

  After three weeks of hard travel, I’ve gotten to know many of the Last Hope in Yeldom’s company of a hundred men. I’m greeted with nods and grins, even the occasional slap on the back when I walk amongst them. It feels good to be accepted without judgement, even by murderers. I’ve heard some of their stories, and very few here are truly worthy of that badge, but there are those … like the one staring at me now from a nearby fire, who are unwilling or simply unable to change their ways.

  My unpleasant admirer has a full dark beard making his big head appear even bigger. He has tattoos all over his neck and the back of his hands, with small calculating eyes sunk into a swollen face. Whenever he opens his mouth to take a bite of his dinner, I see crooked, yellow teeth like half-fallen tombstones. With hands the size of shovels and shoulders barely able to fit inside his armour, he’s a brute and revels in it. Yet he doesn’t meet my gaze and makes a point of only glancing at me briefly, but I know he’s watching.

  Well, as long as he stays over there with his company, he can watch all he likes.

  Tired laughter breaks out around my fire, and I smile, forcing myself to finish eating while listening to the distracting conversation.

  If only Lotane could be here, sharing this camaraderie, humour, and my bedroll at night.

  Does he think about me as often as I think of him? Has his anger faded or continues to grow like the Majors? For me to have called out Nogoth’s name in the ecstasy of our joining would have cut very deep. This time apart might be what’s required for him to forgive me.

  I finally finish my food. The crackle of the flames is soothing, and there’s the occasional hum of conversation coming from some nearby fires. Tiredness comes at me in waves, so I quickly finish my stew, clean the bowl with some stale bread, and wriggle into my bedroll. Around me, the rest do the same. No sentries are set, which irks me a little, but we’re so deep inside friendly territory that even I have to admit it would be a waste. Speed is of the utmost importance, and tired men will only slow us down.

  My eyelids are so heavy, and I feel my consciousness slipping away. The last thought on my mind is Lotane and the look of unbearable pain when he realised the truth about Nogoth and me.

  …..

  Has it been minutes or hours when suddenly, I open my eyes, unaware that I’d fallen asleep, to find myself surrounded by the corpses of the Last Hope.

  I crawl out of my bedroll over to Yeldom. An arm and a leg are missing, yet despite no blood flowing, his eyes open as I lean over him.

  ‘I wanted to see my mother again. Why didn’t you say anything?’

  I fall away in shock, crawling backwards on my hands and heels. My fingers push into something wet, and I turn with trepidation to find them in the entrails of a young corporal called Bandorn. His stomach has been torn open, but not by weapons, for I can see the talon and teeth marks all too well despite the gore.

  ‘We didn’t have a chance,’ he cries, his remaining hand vainly trying to scoop his intestines back into the gaping wound. ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’

  I stumble from body to body, and all the while, the cries around me build and build till they reach a crescendo of accusing howls and sobs.

  … I wake up gasping.

  My nightmare has lasted half the night. The fire has burned out, and everyone is sound asleep.

  I use some breathing exercises to bring my pounding heart under control. Yet that doesn’t stop my mind from racing.

  The dream has shown me what I’ve known all along; the folly of silence. I’d allowed myself to be cowed, to follow the orders of Commander Farsil, to feel like I’d done all I could.

  I need to do more, or these men of the Last Hope, however flawed they might be, will forever scream their accusations at me. I know I can’t save them, nor myself, most likely, but I can prepare them for what’s to come.

  My stomach growls noisily, and my bowels protest, so I quietly extricate myself from my bedroll. As I carefully make my way into the marsh, I’m aware of being stalked by a looming figure, yet it doesn’t bother me.

  I’m a Chosen, and the night is mine.

  ***

  I’m energised, and my thoughts are crystal clear as we continue our journey west. It’s as if I’ve just had a long induced sleep like those I enjoyed within the Mountain of Souls. I’ve no aches or pains, nor do the recent injuries to my ribs and hip hurt.

  Perhaps it was ridding this world of another dark soul that created this feeling.

  Unlike most of the Last Hope, the brute from last night hadn’t left his evil life behind and had hoped to find an easy victim as he followed me in the darkness. His corpse had been claimed by the marsh with a little magical help.

  Strange that I can’t remember how I killed him, but I’d certainly slept perfectly afterwards.

  I smile as I recall the furore over the brute’s disappearance. Fortunately, as his horse and gear remained, and he obviously hadn’t deserted, it was decided he’d fallen victim to a misplaced step in the marsh. We’d all got underway shortly after.

  A frown replaces my smile as a memory of my dream comes to mind. I have to say something.

  Yet how do I approach the Major? Conrol rides ahead with Ardlan, but if I ride alongside and bring up Nogoth or my dream, he’ll just order me back in line or ride away. The other problem is that he already knows the whole story, so what else can I tell him to make him believe.

  It’s a simple question, yet the answer is anything but.

 

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