Malice

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

VERADIS

Veradis brushed his horse’s flank, the slow rhythmic movement helping to calm him. He felt anxious.

It was Midwinter’s Eve. Four nights had passed since he had witnessed the confrontation between Nathair and Fidele. Nothing related to Fidele’s warning had actually happened since then but its potential seemed to hover over Veradis like a bad dream, always there and just out of view.

The things that Fidele had said were true, and so it was surely only a matter of time before Aquilus heard the same rumours and confronted Nathair.

The truth will out.

That was not a confrontation he wanted to witness. Nathair had said that he was going to tell Aquilus, talk to him about the Vin Thalun and their uses. He was just waiting for the right time. Veradis hoped it would be before Aquilus heard from some other source.

And then, tomorrow was Midwinter’s Day. Would the sun really turn black?

He had never doubted Nathair, and that included the prediction of tomorrow’s events. And of course he had seen Calidus transformed, although the memory of it felt distant, insubstantial, somehow, like a fading dream. And tomorrow was so central, so pivotal to everything that had happened since Aquilus’ council, as if all led to this one moment. This moment that would mark the beginning of — what? A new age, Nathair called it. Word had reached them that all over the Banished Lands kings and queens were gathering. But what if the sun did not turn black?

He had heard tales of similar omens. A blood-red star in the sky, falling to earth had supposedly heralded Elyon’s Scourging, when the world had been a different place, even a different shape, but that was just a tale. Over a thousand years the Exiles had dwelt in the Banished Lands, with no talk of wars between Elyon and Asroth, no unnatural signs in the sky.

He sighed and rested his head against his grey’s neck. ‘What will the morrow bring?’ he muttered. He shook himself and set to pulling knots from the horse’s mane.

What will be, will be, he thought. One thing is sure: come what may, I am the Prince’s man. I will follow his lead.

The sun rose into a clear sky on Midwinter’s Day, a bitter wind blowing from the mountains, the land froze iron hard. It was mid-morning when Veradis stood in the hall outside Nathair’s chamber. He waited there a while, then straightened his shoulders and knocked on the door.

Nathair answered quickly. A sable cloak draped his shoulders, the white eagle of Tenebral standing bright on a black polished breastplate. His short sword hung at his hip.

‘Ready?’ the Prince said, grinning at Veradis.

‘Aye.’

‘Are many gathered?’

‘Some, though your father has not yet left the keep.’

‘Good. Come, then,’ Nathair said, striding down the hallway.

They found Aquilus and Fidele in the feast-hall, a small crowd gathered about them. Peritus was there, as was Armatus, the weapons-master. Although Veradis had bested him recently, the grizzled warrior was still King Aquilus’ first-sword.

King Mandros of Carnutan stood in conversation with Aquilus, a sour look etched on his face. He had arrived late the previous day and still looked worn from the journey, dark rings under his eyes. News of their first meeting had spread through the fortress, Mandros all but accusing Aquilus of setting the Vin Thalun loose on his realm. Veradis eyed him suspiciously. He did not like the thought of enemies allowed so close to Nathair and Aquilus. His gaze lingered on Mandros’ sword.

A tall figure stood beside Fidele. Meical had returned.

The King’s counsellor had been absent since before they had left for Tarbesh. It was unusual for a counsellor to be away so much, but it was Aquilus’ choice to send him on such lengthy quests. When Veradis had mentioned it to Nathair he had only replied that his father was strong minded and took little counsel anyway. It was fitting, though, that the tall man should be here today. After all, it was he who had found the book that had drawn them all to this point.

Meical leaned forward and whispered something to Aquilus as Nathair and Veradis approached. The King swung round, eyes fixing onto his son.

‘Father,’ said Nathair, bowing his head. ‘The day long awaited is finally here.’

‘Aye,’ Aquilus said curtly. ‘Come, let us find a place on the walls, the better to see it.’

They filed out of the keep, a warrior escort waiting beyond, and made their way to the battlements that ringed the fortress, climbing the wide, giant-crafted steps to look out upon the plain and lake.

Scores of people stood on the lake shore, and the battlements and streets of Jerolin were crowded, everyone looking upwards.

The sun was high now, bright in a pale blue sky. Everything looked normal.

Veradis swallowed, his mouth dry. He looked around, saw stablemaster Valyn standing further along the battlements, also staring skyward. He scratched his head, tried to stifle a yawn as he scanned the crowd, eyes coming to rest on Meical. He stood almost a head taller than anyone else in the crowd, the scars on his face silver in the daylight. Unlike most, he was not looking at the sun. He looked around the crowd, studying, measuring everything, every one, his eyes eventually fixing on Veradis. Seeing the warrior watching him, he returned the gaze, his expression unreadable. Veradis thought of Nathair’s words, of the part Meical had played in Aquilus’ plans.

The dark-haired man looked away, gazing upwards.

Suddenly, almost collectively, the crowd gasped. Veradis’ head jerked up, staring at the sun, shielding his eyes.

Through the glare he saw something, an indentation, on the sun’s western rim. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. The mark was still there when he looked again, appearing like a curved finger caressing the sun’s edge.

People cried out, pointing. Slowly, the black smudge grew, spreading like a stain across the disc of the sun. He shivered, blew out a long breath and saw it mist in the air before him. It was colder, dramatically more than when he had climbed the steps to the battlement.

A sound, a movement caught his eye. Meical had staggered, was clutching at the black stone of the battlement. Beside Veradis, Nathair muttered something and leaned against him.

‘Are you well?’ Veradis said, suddenly worried.

Nathair collapsed.