Pilgrim by Sara Douglas

sons, and they all left home eventually.‖

Urbeth smiled, her eyes dreamy. ―Yes, it was sad to lose my sons, but I had my daughters

to keep me company.‖

Faraday and Drago sat up in interest.

―Daughters?‖ Drago said.

―Yes. Two daughters. They travelled with you for many, many months. Do you know

them?‖

―Oh gods!‖ Faraday breathed, and looked at Drago and laughed.

The Crimson Chamber of the ancient Icarii palace in Carlon was one of the fairest rooms

the palace contained, but now it reeked with the stink of madness—and worse.

The beautiful crimson dome reigned over a chamber that was entirely bare, save for the

stake driven into the very centre of the floor, and the single wooden chair placed next to the

locked and barred door.

On that chair sat Zared, King of the Acharites. His grey eyes were absent of all

expression, save hopelessness. His face was ashen, his hair uncombed, his cheeks and chin

stubbled with days-old beard.

He stared, and as he stared, he was caught yet again in the recurring guilt he had about his

first wife, Isabeau.

He should never have let her ride to the hunt. He should never have given her the horse

that killed her. He should never have let her near a horse, for the gods‘ sakes, when she was five months gone with their child.

Now she was dead, crushed beneath the horse that failed a single stone fence.

Their child, never given the chance of life, was dead.

As was the woman before him, and the child she carried.

Both dead, or as good as.

From the stake in the heart of the chamber snaked a chain that almost—but not

quite—extended as far as the surrounding circular walls.

At the end of that chain was bolted a woman. Naked. Smeared with filth, for she would

allow none near to clean her.

And savage. She snarled and spat at Zared, her eyes clouded with insanity and demonic

rage. Her fingernails had been torn free in her desperate attempt to claw across the floor to reach

him.

Blood smeared the tiles and her pale skin.

Zared‘s eyes flitted down to the faint swelling of her belly. Her body lived, but Leagh

was dead to him.

As was the child.

Zared‘s eyes filled with tears. It was his fault. He should never have let her ride with

Askam. He should never have trusted Askam!

Leagh—or what had once been her—snarled and jerked at the chain that had been bolted

to her left ankle. She spat, trying every way her mad mind knew to reach him…to hurt him.

Her only purpose in life now was to destroy the man who sat weeping on the chair just

out of her reach.

―I love you,‖ he said.

40

Murkle Mines

The Sea Worms had decimated the twenty-strong fleet. Most of the ships had been

attacked and crippled or sunk in the initial attack, and in the cold late afternoon air, as the

survivors huddled on the gritty beach, the Worms attacked the remaining floating vessels from

the safety of the bay‘s depths. In one moment a ship floated peacefully, the next it would rock

violently as teeth sunk into its keel, ripping away timbers and exposing the belly of the ship to

the invading icy waters.

Theod, as all those who survived the sinking of their ships, had swum to shore with only

bare minutes to spare before the onset of the mid-afternoon despair. They‘d frantically dug

themselves holes in the loose shale of the beach with limbs shaking with cold and exhaustion and

fear, burying themselves even as the grey corruption rolled over the mountains.

Many had not covered themselves in time, and they and the horses which had managed to

escape the holds of the sinking ships, had succumbed to the madness.

Now the horses floated in the water, useless hulks of skin, flesh and bone. Maddened,

they had forgotten to swim, and had died drowning in despair.

The men, either those in the water or those who‘d found the beach, but not the safety of

shelter, had scuttled away into the first gullies of the Murkle Mountains, although not before a

few had stabbed down into the mounds of shale with their swords.

More men dead.

The Strike Force had escaped with no casualties at all—if you did not consider the

wounding of their spirits as they watched, horrified, the fate of their wingless companions. The

Icarii could do little, for they could not bear the weight of a man to safety of either shore or

shadowed gullies, and in the end they were reduced to sheltering in the caves of the first line of

mountains, watching and listening as horses and men went mad.

As despair passed, and the afternoon once again became relatively safe, DareWing

FullHeart sent a farflight scout back to the fleet of ships still at sea.

―Tell them to turn for the safety of ports in the south,‖ he ordered, ―for it would be death

to venture into Murkle Bay.‖

Now Theod, with DareWing, Goldman, the Strike Force and what remained of the two

thousand men—some nine hundred—sat on the beach watching the Sea Worms eating the

remaining planks floating in the sea.

―Enough!‖ Theod said, and rose wearily to his feet. ―DareWing, send a Wing into the

mountains to make contact, if they can, with those who shelter in the mines. Keep the rest of the

Strike Force in the air for…for whatever protection you can give us.‖

―And us?‖ Goldman asked, gesturing to the white-faced, sodden soldiers standing about

in listless ranks.

―Us? Why, we walk into the mountains,‖ Theod said. ―I do not fancy spending this night

breathing shale.‖

And without waiting for an answer, Theod turned his back to the sea and walked towards

the first of the gullies leading into the mountains as the Strike Force rose into the air about him.

No-one wanted to think about what kind of journey home awaited them.

A league out to sea, the farflight scout winged his way towards the distant masts.

Relieved that he would reach them in time, the scout increased his efforts, but then

slowed, horrified. The mast of the leading ship was keeling over, and before the scout‘s appalled

eyes, hit the water with a great splash.

The ship rolled over, showing a massive hole in its side.

The farflight scout descended, desperate to try and help the men struggling in the water.

As he skimmed the waves, not thinking about the danger, a huge purple head reared out

of the sea and snatched him from the air, disappearing beneath the waves again.

The water roiled, and then resumed its heavy rolling motion, the only reminder of the

farflight scout‘s foolhardy bravery being a few white feathers scattered across the flowing waves.

Another ship, and then another, and then yet another rolled over and sank, and by the

time Raspu settled his pestilence over the grey sea there was only the odd sailor left clinging to a plank to seize for his own.

Tencendor, as its people, was on its own.

Theod trudged up the gully. His outer clothes were drying off, but his underclothes clung

damply to his skin, and the leather of his boots was soaked through, chafing at his frozen feet.

He‘d lost the ships, dammit, but he had some nine hundred men, and the Strike Force,

and that would have to be enough. Get the people to the Western Ranges…they could travel

east-south-east through the lower reaches of the Murkles and then into the Western Ranges,

sheltering through the unlivable hours under overhangs and in caves and the shadows of cliffs. It

would have to be enough.

From the Western Ranges, DareWing could send farflight scouts to Zared, and Zared

could meet them with enough of a force to get them safely to Carlon.

―We could stay in the mines,‖ Goldman said quietly as he strode beside Theod. He could

see the younger man‘s face, the determination in his mind, and he knew what he must be

thinking.

―For how long?‖ Theod‘s voice was hard, and he did not look at Goldman. ―For how

long? We must trust in a man whom no-one has ever trusted before, and trust him to find us this unknowable called Sanctuary.‖ Theod abruptly halted and faced Goldman. ―And no doubt if all

the unknowables resolve in our favour, do you know what will happen? This Sanctuary will be

found in a delightful little glade in the furthest corner of the Avarinheim, and what hope, what

bloody hope, would we have of getting to it?‖

Goldman said nothing, just returned Theod‘s look with all the sympathy he could

manage.

―Besides…‖ Theod turned his eyes to the nearest cliffs of the Murkles. ―I do not want to

spend what is left of my life lurking in the depths of these abominations.‖

His voice softened almost to a whisper. ―Look at them. They are so bare, so lifeless. No