Summer Storm
Elizabeth Baxter
Copyright 2013 Elizabeth Baxter
Smashwords Edition


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Chapter 1



Falen glanced up just in time to see the tree trunk lying across her path. Panic flashed through her body. 
“Wait!” she cried.
Too late. Her horse gathered himself and jumped, sailing over the fallen tree. Falen lurched forward in the saddle, clinging on as they landed with a teeth-juddering impact on the other side. She yanked the reins and her horse skidded to a halt in a shower of mud, eyes wide, ears flat. Falen patted his sweaty neck. 
“Sorry, Yrsa. My fault.”
Daydreaming again! With her thoughts fixed on her experiments, she’d not been looking where she was going. That had been close. Too close. 
Yrsa stamped, chewing on the bit, unimpressed with his rider. 
A gust of wind sent Falen’s hair swirling round her head. The trees shook, leaves fluttering into the air. Falen squinted at the sky. Clouds were gathering to the north, obscuring the mountains. It might be high summer but the weather could turn in an instant in the Sisters; a calm day transforming into a howling gale. 
A frown creased Falen’s forehead. That storm looked nasty. She really ought to return to Variss. Any sensible person would turn her horse round and head for home. But then she’d miss the chance to take vital readings from her experiments. 
And that was not an option.
Turning her back on the storm, she nudged Yrsa into a trot and continued up the trail.
Her father would be furious, of course. How many times had he lectured her about safety? You’re not to go riding alone, he’d say, wagging a finger in that annoying way of his. When you leave the city, you must tell me first, and take a guard with you. 
Well, she’d broken both rules and expected another blazing row when she got back. 
The path was one of many game trails crisscrossing the foothills of the Sisters. Although a long way from the tree-line and the real wilderness, Falen felt like she traveled the edge of the world. Nobody came up here. Even herdsmen avoided this place. The Sisters’ slopes were haunted, the tales said, and Black Seza was the worst of them. 
Idiotic superstition, in Falen’s opinion. 
She guided Yrsa into a clearing and dismounted. She saw Variss twinkling in the valley below. The sun shone on the city, making its turrets and towers sparkle like fresh snow. Variss. Queen of the North. Ancient, wild, beautiful. Falen’s home. 
And her prison. 
In the other direction Black Seza, the tallest and most feared of the Sisters, towered almost directly above the clearing. Black Seza’s sides were sheer, with no safe paths to her summit. The mountain’s craggy peak looked like a wizened face looking down at Falen. She shivered, goose bumps riding up her skin.
Pulling off the saddlebags and slinging them over her shoulder, she strode across the clearing to where she’d set up her weather experiments.
Arranged at intervals around the clearing stood several glass contraptions. Falen had named them stormglasses. They resembled teapots, with a sealed glass body and a spout open to the air. Each was filled with different levels of water. 
Falen crouched and pulled a book from the saddlebag. The title read, A Scientific Treatise On Air Currents In The Southern Desert Regions by Tamwyn Tharly.
Falen remembered finding this book in the library. It had been a dull winter afternoon and she’d badgered the old librarian into letting her into the stacks, the area of the library where the oldest and most obscure texts were stored. She’d found this little gem. 
Flipping it open to the appropriate page and resting it on her knee, she peered at the diagrams filling the page. She’d built her stormglass to mimic these ancient designs. Trouble was, they were meant for dry, arid conditions. The unpredictable mountain weather around Variss had caused Falen no end of problems: broken equipment, deluges flooding the stormglasses, gales sending them rolling across the clearing.
Still, what was she supposed to do if she wanted to prove her theories? 
Tamwyn Tharly reckoned that air had different thicknesses, which he referred to as air pressure. Following the instructions in the treatise, Falen had set up her experiments to try to prove the theory. 
She’d been monitoring the water level in the spouts of the stormglasses to see how it moved up and down relative to the level in the body. If Tamwyn Tharly’s theory was right, different pressures should cause different levels. 
She took out her notepad. A pencil went behind her ear. Falen examined the first stormglass. She read the water level from the markers on the body and the spout, making a note of the difference. She moved round the other stormglasses and did the same. 
When she’d taken all the readings she seated herself cross-legged in the grass and studied her notes, chewing her lip and twiddling the pencil.
Yes, the levels were different from the last time she’d visited. So Tamwyn Tharly was right. Air pressure did change. She ought to feel elated but she didn’t. She’d proven someone else’s theory. So what? That wouldn’t be enough. 
Sighing, she pulled a scroll from the saddlebags and unrolled it. Fancy lettering across the top read, Application for entry to the Ral Toran Engineering Academy.
Falen glanced around guiltily. Yrsa was cropping grass at the edge of the clearing. Other than her horse, she was alone. 
If her father saw the application, he’d likely go apoplectic. How many times had they argued about this? 
Why can’t you be more like your mother? A good Varisean woman should be interested in art, literature, her husband and her family! Why must you pursue these childish fads of yours?
They are not childish, father! I want to be a scientist. What’s so wrong with that? 
Women do not become scientists! I want to hear no more about it. I forbid you from applying to Ral Tora. Do you hear?
But Falen was sure her father would feel differently if she got accepted into the academy. Only the best got in. Surely he’d be proud, not angry?
Falen ran her fingers down the paper, tracing the letters.
Each candidate has to submit a project, her tutor had once told her, something of their own design which shows innovation.  If you can’t do that, forget it.
She flicked through her notes again, disappointment settling into her bones. No, this wouldn’t do. To stand any chance, she had to invent something of her own, not just use other people’s work. What she really needed was a device able to actually measure air pressure, not just say whether it had changed. Then she might prove her theory about weather conditions being linked to different pressures. 
Leafing through her notes, she turned to a page near the back that was covered with hand-drawn diagrams. Most had been scribbled out, but one had a red circle around it. This design consisted of a tube rather than a circular stormglass. She tapped her chin with the pencil. It could work. Should work. All her calculations suggested she was on the right path, but all the prototypes she’d built had been failures. 
 Wind blasted across the clearing, whipping Falen’s hair into her face and rattling the trees. The storm clouds had covered Black Seza’s crown and lightning forked around her summit. 
“Oh, wonderful!” Falen cried, hastily stuffing her notes into the saddlebags. “Couldn’t you have given me a little longer?” She threw the saddlebags across her shoulders and jogged over to Yrsa.
“Easy boy, it’s only a bit of thunder,” she said as she patted the neck of the agitated horse.
In the next instant, hissing filled the air and a gray blanket of rain swept across the clearing, drenching Falen through to her skin. 
Falen swung into the saddle and crouched low on Yrsa’s back, urging him into a trot. The thunder sounded like the mountain’s laughter.
You thought it was safe to come here? Fool! It is never safe. How do you like my summer storm?
Falen shook her head, clearing her thoughts. A branch crashed to the ground ten paces to Falen’s left. The wind howled. Gritting her teeth, Falen nudged Yrsa into a canter. His big hooves sent up clods of mud as they wove through the trees and down the trail. 
Finally reaching the bottom of the valley, Falen found herself hemmed in by steep, thickly wooded slopes. Water cascaded off the branches. The rain pounded like a drum. The path swung east, alongside Gregor’s Beck. The river was a roaring mass of churning water, turned milky-white with mountain run-off.
Falen pulled Yrsa to a halt as a thought struck her. How much power must that raging current generate? What if she could harness its power? What if it could be used to drive machinery?
Heedless now of the storm, Falen’s mind whirled with possibilities. Perhaps if she rigged up some kind of wheel system linked to a series of cogs and somehow suspended it in the water…
It took a moment before she realized she was staring at something in the river. A red spot bobbed up and down in mid-stream. Falen guided Yrsa towards the bank and squinted, trying to make it out.
The spot moved and Falen saw a head and then two hands clinging desperately to a rock.
A man! 
Falen slid from Yrsa’s back and scrambled down the bank, slipping in the mud. 
“Hang on!” Falen shouted.
The man’s pale hands twitched, lost their grip and the current swept him away. Falen scurried along the bank, trying to keep pace with him. She slipped and stumbled on the rocky shore, face and clothes scratched by overhanging branches.  
The shoreline widened and Falen pelted across the hard-packed sand, managing to get downstream of the man. She threw herself into the river. The sudden cold stole her breath. Falen plunged under into darkness, robbed of all thought and sensation. But then her boots struck the sandy bottom and she kicked, shot upwards and broke the surface, gasping. 
She spotted something red moving swiftly towards her. Falen threw herself forward, closing the distance with powerful strokes. The man seemed to be unconscious, floating face up with his mouth open, collecting rain. As the current carried him past, Falen snagged the man’s sodden robe and pulled him closer.
She managed to flip him over and pull his arms over her shoulders so he rested against her back, his chin on her shoulder. She kicked towards the shore. Despite her best efforts, his head kept bobbing under the surface and the cold settled into her limbs, making every movement slow and excruciating.  
She pulled a breath into burning lungs and forced her tired legs to kick once, twice, three times, four. On and on until at last, she felt the riverbed scrape against her knees.  She crawled through the shallows and onto the bank, dragging her burden out of the water. 
The man wasn’t breathing. Falen pressed her ear to his chest. No heartbeat. Gathering what remained of her strength, Falen clasped her hands together and hammered them down on the man’s chest as hard as her exhaustion would allow.
Nothing.
She thumped his chest again. Still nothing. With mounting desperation, Falen thumped him a third time. The man’s eyes flew open and he coughed gouts of water from his mouth and nostrils. Falen helped him onto his side, allowing him to vomit up all the fluid inside him. His eyes met hers briefly — they were a rich brown like earth — before he sank down again into unconsciousness. Falen pressed her ear against his chest again. His heart beat steadily and his breathing sounded normal.
The man looked slightly older than her father, in his sixties perhaps, with a bald head and wrinkles around his eyes. From the long robes and the amulet round his neck, she guessed he must be a monk or priest, though certainly not one who served The Mother or The Great Warrior.
Where might he have come from? The river came straight from Black Seza, but surely he couldn’t have come from there. Could he?
Sighing, Falen climbed to her feet and looked around. She had been swept far downstream and there was no sign of Yrsa. Falen raised numb fingers to her lips and whistled. 
She waited, not wanting to sit for fear she wouldn’t get up again, as the rain lashed down and the wind howled. Eventually the thump of hooves sounded through the deluge and Yrsa trotted out from the trees. His ears were pressed flat and his lips peeled back to reveal his square teeth, obviously annoyed at being abandoned.
Giddy relief washed through Falen. But her heart sank as she wondered how she would lift the man onto Yrsa’s back. She had no strength left. Yet, as she bent and grabbed him under the armpits, she found the man weighed little more than a child. She dumped him unceremoniously across Yrsa’s back and then climbed into the saddle behind him. 
Setting her heels to the horse’s flanks, Falen rode. She just hoped she could get home before the storm claimed her.



Chapter 2


“Thank the Warrior! Are you hurt?” said a voice. 
Falen looked up and saw a mounted figure waiting on the trail. 
She forced her cold lips into a smile. “I never thought I’d be so glad to see you, Captain Yorgesson. No, I’m not hurt.” 
His handsome face creased in a frown. “Where have you been, Your Highness? Your father has been beside himself with worry. Half the royal guard has been out searching for you.” He caught sight of the man slumped across Falen’s horse. “Who’s this?”
“I dragged him from the river.”
The captain swung down from the saddle and lifted the man’s chin. 
“Still breathing, but only just. He needs to get to the infirmary right away.” 
He climbed back into the saddle and led the way at a walk, as fast as they dared travel with the unconscious man thrown across Yrsa’s back.
The rain was finally beginning to ease off when Captain Yorgesson and Falen rounded the base of a steep hillside and came in sight of Variss. 
The sight of her home still had the power to move her. Thousands of years ago, so the tales went, the Great Warrior had decided to build a home for his people. So he had demolished a mountain and from its white bones he had built Variss, city of spires. In the distance, Falen could see the glimmer of Ragnar’s Gap, Variss’s gateway to the rest of the land. Above the city the holy mountain, Thyr, looked benignly down.
A group of guards waited by the gate, no doubt sent by Falen’s father to escort her straight to him. Captain Yorgesson spoke before she did.
“Lieutenant Ingmar, please call off the search. All is well.”
Falen was pleased when the guard saluted and strode off. She smiled her thanks at the captain. “How angry was my father?”
His blue eyes flicked to meet hers. “Very.” 
She saw from his expression that he wanted to ask questions. Why didn’t you tell me you were going out? Why do you sneak into the mountains? What do you do up there? She wanted to explain, but if she did, the captain would be duty bound to tell her father if he asked. So Falen kept her mouth shut.  
They rode towards the center of Variss, although little of it registered on Falen’s senses.  The tall, white buildings, the shops and cobbled streets passed by in a blur. 
A gate clanged shut and a groom took Yrsa’s reins. At a word from Captain Yorgesson, Falen slid from the saddle, stumbling as her numb feet hit the cobbles. Firm hands caught her from behind, kept her standing upright and someone threw a blanket over her shoulders. Then she was staggering along corridors, acknowledging greetings with a noncommittal grunt, until she arrived at a closed door. 
Lidda, Falen’s retainer, stood before the door. She had dark eyes nestled in wrinkles and silver-gray hair knotted into Varisean warrior braids.
“By The Mother! What have you been up to this time?” Lidda snapped. “Gallivanting around the mountains again! You will be the death of me, Falen Godwinsson, the death I tell you!”
Falen didn’t respond to the old woman’s tirade. The warmth was bringing her cramped muscles back to life and they burned like fire. Strands of wet hair clung to her face.
The anger on Lidda’s face melted into concern. Taking Falen’s hands in both of hers she said, “Look at you. You’re soaked through to the skin. Come inside and let me get you out of those wet clothes.”
Falen shook her head. Through chattering teeth, she murmured, “See to him first?”
Lidda scowled. “Him? Who—?” she trailed off as she caught sight of Captain Yorgesson coming up behind Falen. He was carrying the man.
Lidda’s hands flew to her mouth. “Mother protect us! Is that a dead man?”
“I hope not,” the captain growled. “Not after I’ve carried him all this way.”
Falen gestured for Lidda to open the door. “Drowning. In the river. I pulled him out. Needs help.”
Lidda looked from Falen, to the captain, to the man.
“Right, bring him in!” she said, pushing the door open and ushering them inside. 
They entered the infirmary, a large, vaulted room with rows of beds down each side. Captain Yorgesson laid the man on a bed.
The physician, an ancient fellow with wobbling jowls, hobbled over and examined the man. He pulled the man’s sodden robe over his head, leaving him in his underclothes. The man flopped lifelessly, like a child’s doll. The physician lifted the man’s eyelids to peer into his pupils, frowned and then pressed an ear to his chest.
“Suffering from hypothermia is my guess. Come and help me,” he instructed Lidda. The old woman took hold of the man’s left arm and began rubbing it vigorously. The man’s skin was pale and sickly, like a corpse.
“What are you waiting for, my girl?” Lidda snapped at Falen. “He’s your patient, now come and help!”
Jolted out of her stupor, Falen knelt by the man’s side and took his arm between her palms. She began rubbing at his cold, cold skin. She noticed a strange, sinuous design like three tangled serpents tattooed into the man’s shoulder. Falen felt her eyes drawn to it. It almost seemed to be moving. She forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand.
Captain Yorgesson cleared his throat. “If I’m no longer needed, I’ll return to your father.”
Falen met the captain’s eyes. “Yes. And thank you.”
The captain nodded and strode from the room.
Falen’s movements fell into a mindless rhythm. She felt Lidda’s eyes on her and knew the old woman was full of questions. Who is he? Where did you find him? Where have you been all afternoon? Why must you defy your father so?
But Falen didn’t have the energy to answer so she avoided the old woman’s gaze and, for a wonder, Lidda kept silent. 
At last, a faint pink blush began to bloom along the man’s arms and the physician indicated they should move onto his legs. Whilst they worked, the man didn’t respond at all, the only thing indicating he was still alive was the unsteady rise and fall of his chest. Finally, the physician ordered them to stop and he looked the man over.
 “I think we’ve got his circulation going and some warmth into his muscles. As far as I can tell, he has no injuries and his lungs sound clear.” The old man shrugged. “He needs rest. He’ll either wake or he won’t.”
Falen staggered to one of the spare beds and sat. She just wanted to sleep.
“None of that!” Lidda snapped.
“What?” Falen said, startled.
The old woman planted her hands on her hips. “Come on. It’s a bath for you, my girl. A nice hot bath, clean clothes, and then it’s off to see your father.”
Falen put her head in her hands and groaned.

***

The guards bowed as Falen approached. She acknowledged them with a nod, sucked in a deep breath and pushed the doors open. 
The cavernous throne room echoed as her feet struck the polished tiles. The guards pulled the door shut behind her. It closed with a clang that made Falen jump, as though she was being sealed in a tomb. 
King Beorl Godwinsson stood by the wall, gazing up at one of the many paintings hanging around the room. This one showed some epic battle from Variss’s past. No doubt, had she asked, he could have told her all about that battle. But Falen could muster little enthusiasm for such things. It was another reason for the gulf that had grown between them. 
“Father?”
King Beorl didn’t answer. Staring at the painting as though mesmerized, he remained silent so long Falen thought he would ignore her altogether. But finally he said, “This is one of my favorites. The way she captured the heat of battle is just exquisite, don’t you think?”
Falen dutifully gazed up at the painting. “Yes, father.”
Like all the paintings hanging in the throne room, this was one of Falen’s mother’s. Queen Anna Godwinsson had been widely regarded as one of Variss’s greatest artists. The rich merchants down in Esclede would pay a king’s ransom for one of her originals. King Beorl Godwinsson surrounded himself with them as though it would bring her back. 
Although he didn’t turn around, his anger showed in the tense set of his shoulders. She put on her most reasonable voice and decided to tell him a little of the truth. 
“Father, I know I shouldn’t have gone out today. I’m sorry. It’s just that I had to take the readings—”
“Three squads.”
“What?”
He turned to glare at her. His bearded face was red with anger. “Three squads! All out searching for you!”
“I didn’t mean to be gone so long. I was hoping nobody would miss me. I needed to take my measurements—”
“That’s your excuse? You risked your life for your pointless experiments?”
Heat flooded Falen’s face. “They are not pointless! Haven’t you been listening? I think I’ve found a way to—”
“Warrior’s Breath! Falen, you are a princess! Heir to the throne of Variss! When will you realize you cannot do whatever you want? You are not some washerwoman’s cub who can run wild wherever the whim takes her! You have a duty to Variss, to your people. How could you be so reckless?”
His words pelted against her like little stones. “Me, reckless?” she snapped back. “That’s rich coming from you!”
He raised an eyebrow. “Falen, when you are queen you will come to realize that every decision you make must be carefully weighed. You must only take risks if they are in the interest of Variss.”
“Oh, because you always do that you mean? You almost caused war with grandfather when you spirited mother away in the middle of the night! How was such a scandal in the interests of Variss?”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew it was the wrong thing to say. She had learned never to mention her mother in her father’s presence. She tried to think of something to distract him, but it was too late. 
The anger in his eyes dimmed and was replaced by that dead, empty expression Falen had come to dread. “This discussion is over. You are not to leave the palace. Don’t make me lock you in your room.”
“You haven’t even asked how I am! Or what happened up there. I saved a man’s life today. Isn’t that what a good Varisean would do?”
“It gets worse,” he grated, throwing up his hands. “Not only did you go up into the mountains during a storm – showing a lack of judgment any ten year old child would be ashamed of – but you risked your life for a stranger? For shame, Falen. What would your mother say?”
Falen snapped her mouth shut. The phrase was like a knife that he continually used to stab her.
What would your mother say?
Four years had passed since her mother’s death. Falen knew her father hoped to see something of her mother in her. He was always disappointed. She and her mother shared the same dark hair and eyes, the same dimple chin and dusting of freckles. But there the similarity ended. Queen Anna was a dreamer, Falen was a pragmatist. Queen Anna was an artist, Falen was a scientist.
When he looked at her, Falen knew her father saw a young woman who wore his wife’s face but was different in every way that mattered. No, Queen Anna did not live on in her daughter.
What would your mother say?
Falen wanted to shout, “She would say ‘look around you, realize you have a living daughter who needs you! Return to the living!’”
But she didn’t say any of this. Instead, she whispered, “May I go now?”
He waved her away and turned back to studying the painting. Gritting her teeth, Falen turned and left. 

***

A piece of plaster fell from the wall as Falen slammed the door to her chambers. 
Warrior curse him! When would he stop treating her like a baby? When would he stop wallowing in grief? 
She threw herself into a chair and crossed her arms over her chest. It felt tight with anger. But deep down inside, an insistent little voice kept saying, “He was right. You shouldn’t have gone off on your own. Stop being a brat.”
The thought only made her angrier. She grabbed a cushion and hurled it against the wall. The soft ‘pat’ it made was wholly unsatisfying so she seized the next cushion and flung it. Then another. And another. Soon, her floor was covered with them. Falen seated herself on the floor by the window, knees drawn up and her arms around them. She stared out of the window. 
The storm was blowing through, leaving the sky blue and sparkling. Beyond the palace walls, the market was in full swing. People were scurrying about like ants, visiting stalls, bartering for goods, stopping for a chat with friends. Falen wished she could trade places with them. 
After a moment, she climbed to her feet and stomped over to where she’d slung the saddlebags. She took out her stormglass plans and spread them on the table, leaning over to scrutinize the drawings. As her eyes moved over the design no ideas came to her. 
She kicked the table leg in frustration.
There was a knock on the door and Lidda entered, carrying a steaming bowl and with a towel draped over one arm. Falen grabbed the plans off the table and hastily stuffed them in her pocket. 
Lidda set the bowl down and then turned to survey the cushions strewn across the floor. She raised an eyebrow. 
“What have you been doing? Hmm, I’ve seen that look on your face before, my girl.”
Falen scowled. “What look?”
“That look. A look to frighten children.”
Falen grunted and turned to stare out the window again. 
“Have you been to see your father?”
Another grunt. 
“It went well, obviously. I’ve brought you a steam bowl.” 
Falen eyed the bowl Lidda had placed on the table. “What is it?”
“A mixture of herbs in boiling water. The steam will help clear your chest.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my chest.”
“Not now maybe, but you’ve been caught in the rain and had a dunking in the river today. We don’t want a chill to set in.” She clapped her hands a few times. “Come on then.”
Falen sighed. She knew better than to argue with Lidda. The old woman could be as stubborn as an old blood-hound. Lidda had been Queen Anna’s maid. Falen wondered if her mother had been subjected to the same hen-pecking.
Falen took a seat at the table. Lidda pushed the steaming bowl towards her and draped the towel over her head. 
“Lean over and inhale the steam,” the old woman instructed. “Don’t touch the water, its scalding.”
Falen inhaled deeply then broke into a fit of coughing. “What’s in this? It smells foul!”
“How it smells isn’t important. Now, take it in through your nose, deep into your lungs.”
Falen breathed a few times before raising her head. “Lidda, this stuff is going to make me sick.”
Lidda smacked her lightly on the back of the head. “Stop complaining. Now, ten more breaths or I won’t tell you my news.”
“What news?”
“Ten more breaths I said!”
Falen leaned over the bowl and breathed in the foul vapors. At last, she raised her head.  “Done it! Now tell me!”
Lidda frowned, clearly thinking Falen hadn’t taken enough. She threw up her hands in surrender. “I give up! If you catch a cold, let nobody say I didn’t do my best! Fine. That man you pulled out of the river? He’s woken up.”



Chapter 3



As she stepped into the infirmary, Falen started in surprise.
The man she’d rescued was sitting up in bed, sipping a cup of marjoram tea. He looked up and smiled, showing a row of gleaming white teeth. Falen walked hesitantly into the room. Could this really be the half-dead man she’d brought to Variss? The man’s cheeks were rosy with good health, his eyes bright and clear. 
Falen approached the bed. “Er… Hello. I’m Falen. How are you feeling?”
The man set the cup down, crossed his arms over his chest and inclined his head in a half-bow.  
“I know who you are, Princess. I’m feeling much better, thanks to you. The doctors say I need rest, nothing more.”
Falen pulled over a chair and sat by his bed. “I’m glad. I was worried you might have swallowed too much water.”
A shadow passed over his face. “Yes, I was sure my time was up. But the Lords of Life sent you to save me. I’m a stupid old man, Princess. One who thinks it’s safe to go wandering in the mountains when he knows nothing of the terrain!”
“The Lords of Life? Are they your gods? So you are a priest, then?”
“Not a priest,” he said, showing Falen the crescent-shaped amulet hanging round his neck. “Only a monk. From Esclede. I came to Variss to spread the words of the Lords of Life and to hopefully set up a new chapter.” He smiled wryly. “I had not planned on ending my days here. My name is Nashir.”
Falen nodded. “Well, I’m glad I could help you, Nashir. Why did you go into the mountains? It’s not really safe to go without a guide.”
“Oh, I realize that now. Why did I go? Curiosity. I wished to see the Lords of Life’s creations up close. Have you ever been to Esclede?”
Falen shook her head. 
“Ah, then you wouldn’t know that there are no mountains in my homeland. We have sand. Lots of it. In Esclede the horizons stretch forever. When I came to Variss, the sight of those towering peaks took my breath away.” He grinned at her. “Tell me, are princesses in Variss in the habit of throwing themselves into rivers after silly old men?” 
Falen shrugged. “Not normally. But most would say I’m not a normal princess.”
He nodded. “Oh, most assuredly. Princess Falen the Brave, rescuer of stupid monks. Princess Falen the Magnificent, savior of silly old men!”
Falen laughed. “Princess Falen the Strange, embarrassment to princesses everywhere!”
Lidda tutted. She stood scowling by the door, arms folded across her chest. Waves of disapproval radiated from her. No doubt the old woman thought Falen shouldn’t be talking with Nashir. There were plenty of princessy things she ought to be doing instead.
“I’m grateful the Lords of Life relented and sent you to save this foolish old man,” Nashir said.
“Well we both learned a lesson today then,” Falen said. “For me, it was never go riding without a rain cape.”
Nashir laughed. “A most valuable piece of advice. I’ll be sure to remember it the next time I go a-wandering. But tell me, Princess, why were you by the river? Even though I know little of the customs of your land, riding alone in a storm strikes me as an odd thing for a princess to do?”
“Doesn’t it just?” snapped Lidda. “If I had a penny for every time I’ve told her that, I’d be a rich woman.”
Falen turned to the old servant. “Haven’t you got things to be doing, Lidda?” 
Lidda sniffed. “Fine.  I know when my advice isn’t appreciated. I’ll be about my business.” She brushed down her skirt before stomping out of the room.
Nashir watched her go and winced as the door slammed. “I think you might have upset your friend, Princess.”
Falen sighed. “I know. And I shouldn’t have. I’ll apologize later.” She placed her hands on her knees. “Well, I’ll leave you to recuperate. Have a safe journey home.”
Nashir’s hand snapped out and closed around her wrist. “Wait, Princess. Do you have to go yet?” His rich brown eyes fixed on her. 
“I, er, I suppose not,” she heard herself saying. Her thoughts felt suddenly foggy. “I can stay a little while.”
A wide smile split his face. He let go of her wrist. “Good. I wondered whether you would do me a favor, Princess.”
Falen blinked, trying to clear her head. “What favor?”
“I came to Variss in the hope of setting up a chapter here. However, to do so I need royal approval. Would you be able to arrange for me to see your father?”
Falen snorted. “Hardly. When it comes to things like that, I have no influence.”
Something flashed in Nashir’s eyes. Anger? “Surely not, Princess. You are his daughter. All I need is five minutes with the king.”
“I’m sorry, Nashir,” Falen replied, shaking her head. “It’s impossible. If you want to speak to my father, you’ll have to add your name to the petitioner’s list like everybody else.”
“But that could take weeks!” Nashir snapped. He sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. “Forgive me, Princess. It seems I’m not as recovered as I thought. Tiredness makes me grumpy.”
“I understand,” Falen replied, getting to her feet. “You wouldn’t want to come near me first thing in the morning!”
Nashir chuckled and his eyes focused on Falen’s tunic. “What’s that?”
Falen looked around. “What’s what?”
“There, in your pocket.”
Looking down, Falen saw the crumpled stormglass plans sticking out of her tunic. “Er, nothing. I’d better be going.”
“It looks like plans of some kind. Are you a designer, Princess?”
“Just a project I’m working on,” Falen replied quickly. “Nothing important.”
Nashir held out a hand. “May I see them?”
Falen hesitated. She ought to bid Nashir goodbye and walk away. But it might suggest she had something to hide and if Nashir happened to mention it to Lidda or the physician, it was bound to get back to her father. 
She pulled the designs from her pocket and handed them over. Nashir spread the papers out on the bed and peered at them eagerly. 
“Ah, a woman of science! Now that explains your haste. I learned long ago never to get between a scientist and their experiments!”
Falen’s eyebrows rose. “You know scientists?”
“Of course,” Nashir replied. “Within my temple many of the monks and nuns study the scientific arts. After all, the natural law is part of the Lords of Life’s creation. Studying those laws are just another way to venerate Their works. Is it not the same in Variss?”
Falen snorted. “Not for women. And especially not for princesses.”
“So how did you learn?”
“My father hired a tutor from Ral Tora. He was supposed to teach me about the world’s different political systems. Instead, he taught me about science and engineering. I loved it.”
“What happened to him?” 
Falen shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant even though sadness welled up inside. “My father sacked him. But it was too late by then. I was hooked.”
Nashir stared at her. After a moment, he said, “Everyone needs heroes. When I was younger, I saw one of the Falad’s horse races. It was the most exciting thing I’d ever seen. I decided there and then I’d be a rider in the races one day.” He smiled. “That was before my Lords called me, of course.” He bent over the stormglass plans and studied them silently, the tip of his tongue sticking out as he concentrated. 
Falen watched him. She felt a little uncomfortable having a stranger examining her plans. But, she had to admit, it was nice to have someone showing an interest.
“This looks like some sort of measuring device,” Nashir said, looking up. “Are you using it to measure rainfall?”
“Not rainfall,” Falen said, leaning over and pointing. “Water level. I’ve been measuring how it moves up and down depending on weather conditions. I’m hoping to discover a way to measure air pressure. If I can get it right, maybe it will help predict weather patterns.”
Nashir chewed his lip. “I’ve heard of such theories. I read a treatise once by a Ral Toran scholar that talked of such things. I can’t remember his name though.”
“Tamwyn Tharly?” asked Falen.
Nashir held up a finger. “Yes, that’s the one. Didn’t he have some theories about the moon controlling tides and the like?”
Falen nodded. “It’s his ideas I’ve been using. These designs are based on his drawings, in fact.”
“Good for you!” Nashir said. “No doubt your creations will be the envy of Variss one day!”
Falen smiled wryly. “I wish. I’m not having much success. I can’t seem to get the design right and my results are inconsistent.”
Nashir studied the paper spread out on his knee then looked up at Falen. “I could help you if you like?”
“You’d do that?” asked Falen, startled.
Nashir grinned and tapped the side of his nose. “Why not? The doctors think I’ll be here a while yet. I’d be delighted to help, it’s the least I can do to repay you for saving my life. I have a few ideas. We’ll get your stormglass working, you just see if we don’t.”
An idiotic grin spread over Falen’s face but she didn’t care. Progress at last! She might make the application deadline after all.



Chapter 4



Only a few hours had passed since sunrise, but already Falen’s back ached. She stifled a yawn as she stared at the piece of paper, listening as Minister Gamel explained its meaning. Something about farming rights in one of the lower valleys. The man’s voice creaked like old leather, his monotone drawl in danger of putting her to sleep. But she forced herself to remain upright, plastering a look of interest across her face, nodding at what she hoped were appropriate intervals.
Finally, he fell silent, looking at Falen as if he expected an answer.
Falen cleared her throat, stirring in her chair. “Everything seems in order, minister.” 
She imprinted the parchment with her royal seal and handed it over, smiling warmly.
“Thank you for your diligence, minister. I believe that will be all for this morning.”
He reached out one age-spotted hand, rolled the parchment and placed it into his satchel with the rest. He climbed slowly from his chair, bowed to Falen and then tottered to the door.
Falen kept smiling until the door closed behind him, then the smile slipped from her face like a dollop of butter from a knife. She climbed to her feet, left her council room and returned to her chambers where she found Lidda tidying.
“What else have I got today, Lidda?” she asked.
The old woman frowned. “You know full well, young lady. Don’t pretend you’ve forgotten.”
Falen widened her eyes in mock innocence. “Forgotten what?”
Lidda’s frown deepened. “Lord Baylan Sigard is arriving this morning for his son’s investiture as a knight. Your father expects you to be there to welcome him.”
Falen groaned. Lord Baylan Sigard was one of her father’s oldest friends and a powerful Varisean noble. His son, Lord Malwyn Sigard, was a sniveling toad with all the warmth and charm of a lizard. And Falen was pretty sure her father was eyeing him up as her future husband. How many times had she caught her father and Lord Baylan whispering together whilst shooting her covert glances, as though she wouldn’t notice?
Lidda went into the bedroom, emerging a moment later carrying a red velvet dress with a plunging neckline. “How about this? It brings out the color in your cheeks.”
Falen curled her lip. “Lidda, if I wore that I would look like a giant strawberry. I don’t think so.”
Lidda sighed. She returned to the bedroom, emerging this time with a blue satin gown with long billowing sleeves. “How about this one then?”
Falen pushed her chair back from the table. “I’m not going, Lidda. I have too many important things to do. I’m sure my father can cope without me.”
“Important things?” Lidda snapped, flicking the dress onto the back of a chair. “What important things? I hope you aren’t planning on going riding again. Not after what happened yesterday.”
Falen held out a hand, trying to calm the old woman’s ire. “No, no. I’m not going to even leave the palace. I promise.” She hoped this would placate her old servant but Lidda wasn’t having any of it.
“I see. So there is something you must do that is more important than attending a welcoming feast for your father’s greatest political ally?”
Falen shuffled, staring at her feet. “Yes.”
“And what might that be?”
“Just things.”
“What things?”
Falen could tell from the tone of Lidda’s voice that the old woman knew exactly what Falen meant. “Oh come on, Lidda! All father and the others will be doing is talking about hunting and drinking and all the amazing, exciting things they did in their youth. Does he really need me there for that?”
For a wonder, the hard look on Lidda’s face softened. “I know Lord Malwyn isn’t exactly what you might have had in mind for a husband, but he’s young and strong and…” She trailed off as if running out of things to say.
“And arrogant and conniving and slimy,” Falen finished for her.
Lidda said nothing. Falen was right, and she knew it. The woman blew out her cheeks. “Very well. Have it your way. Though I don’t know why you keep persisting with these experiments of yours. Unless, of course, you have plans for them?”
“Er, no plans,” Falen said quickly. “Just a project.”
Lidda stared at her. “Fine. If anyone should ask, I’ll say you went out and didn’t tell me where you were going.”
Falen grinned and threw her arms around the old woman’s thin shoulders. “Thanks, Lidda.”
The servant shook her head. “I must be mad.”
Falen planted a kiss on Lidda’s forehead then spun around and ran from the chamber. 
A short walk through the palace brought her to the infirmary. When she entered, the monk’s face lit up. He was sitting up in bed with a book open on his knees. He had a piece of toast in one hand and a pair of large round spectacles perched on the end of his nose.
“Ah, Princess! Come in, come in.”
He snapped the book shut and hastily brushed crumbs from his robe.
“As you can see, Princess, I wasn’t expecting you quite this early. I thought you’d be busy all day, what with all the royal goings-on.”
“Please don’t tidy on my account, Nashir. What are you reading?”
“The doctor was kind enough to send for some books from the library for me.”
Falen lifted some from the pile by Nashir’s bed and read the covers. Flora and Fauna of Northern Thanderley. Topography of the Northern Ranges. A Compendium Of Mountain Beasts. Maps peeked out here and there amongst the books, mainly showing routes through the mountains, and particularly those leading into the Sisters.
“You seem to have a keen interest in geography, Nashir.”
“Geography, science, history. Anything really. There is enough knowledge here in Variss to keep a man sated for life! It was indeed fortuitous that the Lords of Life sent me here.” He took a bite of his toast and munched away happily, oblivious to the fact that a line of butter was running down his chin.
Falen tried not to smile, instead putting on her most serious scholarly face. “I wondered if you’d take a look at my stormglass plans. But, I can see you’re busy—”
“No, no,” he said, his mouth full of toast. “Never too busy for you, Princess, and the doctors say I’m all right to be up and about today. I said I would help with your stormglass and I meant it. I am yours to command.” He looked himself up and down, realizing he was still in his nightclothes. “But, er, give me a minute to get dressed, Princess.”

***


Falen led Nashir to her workshop in one of the westernmost towers of the palace. She usually spent her time here alone, punctuated only by Lidda’s visits to bring her meals. She watched as Nashir came into the room.
The monk’s eyes widened as he entered. He moved around examining everything, his jaw hanging open in what Falen hoped was wonder rather than amusement. 
Feeling suddenly embarrassed, Falen moved over to the wall on which she had pinned all her drawings and plans of the stormglass. “This is what I’ve come up with so far. On the left are all the ideas I cobbled together from books and these drawings in the middle are the prototypes I tried. None of them worked. I don’t know why, but I didn’t get any readings from them at all.” 
She moved over to the further side where more intricate diagrams were pinned. “These are my latest designs.”
Nashir clasped his hands behind his back and slowly strode up and down the length of the wall, taking in the diagrams. He leaned close to read the little notes and updates Falen had scribbled on most of them. His bald head shone in the lamplight, his brow furrowed. Falen watched him silently. The only sound was the swish of his robe as it brushed the flagstone floor.
At last, he paused by the diagram of Falen’s latest design and tapped it with a spindly finger. “How would you like to improve this, Princess?”
“In Tamwyn Tharly’s designs, he used water to observe the rising and falling pressure. See this tube design here? I’m sure this is a better design for measuring pressure, but when I use water in the tube, I get no results at all.”
Nashir frowned. “I don’t think water would work for this, Princess. You need something thicker.”
“Thicker?”
“Something with more density so it’s harder to manipulate.”
Falen thought for a moment. “How about treacle?”
“I don’t think that would work.”
“Ale? Wine?”
Nashir shook his head. “They’re all water-based. You need something completely different.”
“Like what?”
“Some kind of liquid metal perhaps?”
Falen shook her head. “Metal only becomes liquid at high temperatures. As soon as I put it inside my stormglass, it would cool and become metal again. Not to mention shattering the glass in the process.”
“Then you need something that stays as a liquid at lower temperatures.”
Falen pursed her lips in thought. “I don’t know of any such material.” Then a thought struck her. “Hang on, some of my books mention a substance called quicksilver. I think it comes from some kind of ore. Alchemists use it. Do you think that might work?” 
Nashir shrugged. “I’ve no idea. But perhaps it might be worth investigating?”
Falen’s mind whirled. New possibilities tumbled through her head. Quicksilver. Liquid metal. Was it possible? Could this give her the solution she needed?
“Princess?”
Falen glanced at Nashir, startled. “Sorry, what?”
“I said, would you like me to sketch you some of the designs I saw in Esclede?”
“Of course. Let’s take a seat at the bench. I’ve got plenty of paper and pens. Come on.”

***

Nashir leaned back and yawned. 
Falen looked up as the old man rubbed his eyes. “You look exhausted, Nashir. I shouldn’t have kept you here so long. Would you like to go back to the infirmary?”
Nashir chuckled. “Not at all, Princess. I’m fine. Don’t you worry about me. Although I am getting a bit hungry.” 
Falen glanced out the window and cursed under her breath. The sun had passed its midday zenith. “Sorry, Nashir. I didn’t realize the time. Lidda would be giving me a lecture if she were here about courtesy towards guests and the like. Come on, let’s go and find something to eat.”
Nashir’s face split in to a grin and his eyes lit up. “Now that’s what I call a plan, Princess!” He jumped up from the bench and with a flourishing bow, indicated for Falen to precede him from the room. 
As they made their way through the palace, Nashir smiled warmly at everyone they met and would have stopped to greet them, had Falen not taken his arm and pulled him along. He seemed like a child at a market, fascinated by every new sight, sound and smell. He gaped at the tapestries on the wall, stared at his reflection in every mirror, and commented on the clothes worn by every person they passed.
They came to an intersection. Falen swung right and took a few steps before she realized Nashir wasn’t following. Turning around, she saw the monk striding off in the other direction. Cursing under her breath, she trotted after him and grabbed his elbow. This route would take them into the heart of the palace and run the risk of bumping into her father.
“Nashir, you’re going the wrong way. The kitchens are down here.”
He stared at her, a look of irritation flicking across his features. “I would rather go this way, Princess.”
Falen frowned. “I told you, the kitchens are over there.”
“And I told you we will go this way!” Nashir’s voice cracked with command. Falen felt her will crumbling. What harm could it do if Nashir wanted to go that way?
Voices echoed from the corridor ahead and Falen’s heart sank. The voices were male and Falen recognized them both.
“Who’s that? Nashir asked. “It sounds like quite a ruckus up ahead.”
Before she could answer, the monk set off in the direction of the voices and Falen reluctantly followed.
They passed through an archway into a courtyard. A traveling party had just arrived. The courtyard was full of men, horses, and wagons. A team of servants were busy unloading the wagons and grooms were unsaddling the horses.
A tall, gaunt man bellowed orders as servants struggled under the weight of the chests and bags being brought down from the wagons. On the far side, Captain Yorgesson and a squad of his men watched proceedings with tight expressions. No doubt they had been required to escort the travelers but were now powerless to intervene in the haranguing of servants. 
The person in charge of this whole spectacle lounged against a wall, nonchalantly eating an apple.
Falen scowled. Lord Malwyn Sigard. She might have known. He was a few years older than Falen with curly brown hair and the kind of sculpted features women swooned after. A mocking half-smile twisted his lips, a smile that suggested he was privy to some secret others weren’t. He wore fine clothes, a shining sword strapped to his waist.
The tall man shouting at the servants was Edwin Thullson, Lord Malwyn’s retainer. Falen disliked him almost as much as she disliked his master. 
“Careful, you brainless dolt!” Edwin growled as Griann, an old servant, staggered under the weight of a large wooden chest. “If you damage that, I’ll have you whipped!”
Griann’s knees bent under the weight and despite his best efforts he seemed moments from spilling the chest onto the cobbles. Nashir darted forward and set his own shoulder beneath the chest, helping Griann to stabilize the weight on his back.
“Who are you?” Edwin barked at Nashir. “I don’t remember giving you an order! Out of the way!”
Falen stepped forward. “I gave the order, Edwin.”
At the sight of her, Edwin smoothed his face into a smile and made a slight bow. “Greetings, Your Highness. I did not realize this man was your servant.”
“No, but you know Griann is, and all the others that you are barking at like you’re herding cattle.”
Edwin’s eyes widened slightly at the rebuke. “Your father instructed the servants to unload our belongings. I am merely overseeing the operation, as befits my role.”
Falen turned to where Lord Malwyn lounged against the wall. “Call your dog to heel, my lord, before I order all the servants away and let you unload this by yourself.”
Malwyn bit into the apple and took a long time chewing. Then he looked her up and down before pushing himself from the wall and bowing elaborately.
“Your Highness. You grow ever more beautiful. Would you like a bite?” He held the apple towards her.
“No, thank you.” Falen replied, suppressing an urge to grab the apple and throw it at his smirking face. 
“A shame.”
“What is?”
“That our first meeting in months should begin with such acrimony. Still, you can’t help your temper, can you? And I do like my women feisty.”
Falen gritted her teeth. The courtyard had gone very quiet and she could feel everyone’s eyes on her. Malwyn was baiting her, trying to provoke a reaction that would show her up in front of all the servants. Trouble was, Falen could feel her anger rising. She wished she could march over and kick him where it hurt. That would wipe the smug look right off his face!
Instead, she shouted, “Captain Yorgesson, attend me please.”
The captain strode over and bowed, one arm crossed over his chest in the proper way. “Your Highness?”
Falen pitched her voice so it would carry to all within the courtyard. “Lord Malwyn and his retinue must be very tired after their journey. You will oversee the unpacking of their belongings so they may depart immediately for rest and nourishment.”
The captain flashed her a smile. “As you command, Your Highness.” 
He began issuing orders. As his men moved to obey, the unloading of the lord’s belongings became a smooth and efficient operation.
Lord Malwyn smiled. “Many thanks, Your Highness. You are, as ever, a gracious host.” 
Ignoring the heavy sarcasm in his voice, Falen bowed her head. “Just as you are ever a gracious guest, my lord.”
She turned away, feeling a little flush of satisfaction at the annoyance that flickered over both his and Edwin’s faces. They thought they could make her look stupid, did they? Well, she would show them she was every bit their match.
There was a sudden commotion as people turned towards something beyond Falen’s line of sight. As everyone began getting down on one knee, her heart sank. 
Her father and Lord Baylan Sigard, Malwyn’s father, emerged into the courtyard, deep in conversation. The king waved the crowd back to their feet and paused, his eyes roving the crowd and finally settling on her. He strode over. Falen dropped a curtsy as protocol demanded when in public. So much for avoiding today’s proceedings. She had landed herself right in the middle of them!
“Your Majesty. Lord Baylan.”
The king nodded. “Falen. I’m glad you’ve come to greet out guests.” He raised an eyebrow as he took in her work clothes. “But perhaps you could have worn something a little more appropriate.”
Falen felt heat rushing to her cheeks. “Yes, father.”
“And you’ve been getting acquainted with young Malwyn I see.”
Malwyn swept forward and executed a perfect bow. “Princess Falen is as gracious as she is beautiful, Your Majesty. She has been helping us to unload our belongings.”
“Has she now?” her father replied, raising an eyebrow at Falen. “You must be a good influence on her, Malwyn.”
Malwyn laughed. “You flatter me, Your Majesty. I’m sure the Lady Falen needs no help from me in that regard.”
Falen kept her face neutral but she was finding it difficult to hold her tongue. Why did they have to talk about her as if she wasn’t standing right in front of them?
“I will leave you to take some rest before your knighting ceremony this afternoon,” the king said to Lord Malwyn.
“I look forward to it, Your Majesty.”
The king began to turn away, but suddenly caught sight of Nashir standing behind Falen. “Who is this?”
“My guest, father,” Falen said, stepping aside. “I told you about him, remember? I pulled him from the river up in the mountains.”
He frowned. “Yes, I remember.”
Nashir stepped forward spreading his arms wide as he bowed. “May the Lords of Life bless you, Beorl Godwinsson. And may you be granted the peace you seek.”
The crowd muttered at this informal address and Falen tensed, anticipating her father’s reaction. 
He cocked his head as he regarded Nashir. “Your gods would bless me, would they? Then they are kinder than my own. I hope you enjoy your stay in Variss.”
The king turned away but Nashir suddenly darted forward and grabbed the king’s wrist. The crowd gasped and Captain Yorgesson started forward, hand on his sword hilt. 
“I would give you Their blessing now.” Nashir’s voice was suddenly rich and authoritative, his eyes shining. 
Falen stood rooted to the spot, unable to make herself move. Everything seemed to slow down, like she watched a dream. Her father glanced down at Nashir’s fingers curling round his wrist, then up at Nashir’s face. No words were said, but her father’s eyes suddenly widened and Falen was sure something passed between them, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Then her father nodded, color coming into his pale cheeks. 
Nashir dropped the king’s wrist and backed away.
Everything came alive again. Captain Yorgesson halted, awaiting the king’s command. Falen looked from Nashir to her father and back again. The crowd held their breath.
A faint smile curled her father’s lips. “Thank you for your blessing. Falen, Malwyn, I will see you at the ceremony later.”
He turned and strode from the courtyard, leaving Falen staring after. 



Chapter 5



“We should have been at the ceremony half a bell ago! Your father will be furious!” said Lidda, as she stood over Falen, hands on hips. When she got no response, she snatched a brush from the dresser. 
“At least let me sort your hair. You can’t go to the ceremony with it all tangled.” 
“In a minute.” Falen leaned her elbows on the table, peering at a piece of paper. On it was a brief outline of the stormglass improvements she and Nashir had devised. Most of the modifications seemed feasible. 
Lidda peered over Falen’s shoulder. “You’re going to build that are you?” 
“Maybe.” 
“I see. And will anyone be helping you?” 
Sighing, Falen turned to look at Lidda. “By ‘someone’ I take it you mean Nashir? I don’t know. He’s just been helping me with some ideas, that’s all.” 
Lidda shook her head, gray braids swinging. “I don’t like it. You know nothing about this man and he’s already currying favor with you. And that spectacle with the king this morning? What did he think he was doing?” 
“He just wanted to give father a blessing. It’s nothing you need worry about.” 
“How do you know? You don’t know why he’s here or where he came from. He might be dangerous.” 
Falen snorted. “Lidda, he’s an old man. What harm could he do?” 
“All sorts of things,” Lidda said, folding her arms. “I don’t like it.” 
“Lidda, I —”
There was a rap on the door. Lidda frowned and went to answer it. To Falen’s surprise, Lord Baylan Sigard entered the room. He wore his ceremonial uniform with his great sword strapped across his back. 
Hastily gathering up the stormglass plans, Falen stood and went to meet him. 
“My lord?” 
“Forgive the intrusion, Your Highness,” Lord Baylan said, bowing low and showing off his bald patch. “I’ve been awaiting your father at the knighting ceremony for over half a bell. I’m told by his staff that nobody can find him. Tell me, am I supposed to conduct the ceremony myself?” 
Lord Baylan’s words were clipped, annoyance seething underneath them.
Falen put on her most princess-like voice. “My father sends his apologies, my lord. He has been unavoidably delayed. If you return to the knighting chamber, my father and I will join you shortly.” 
Lord Baylan frowned and Falen thought he might refuse, but then he bowed stiffly, turned on his heel and strode from the chamber. 
It was most unlike her father to insult his guests. For a moment Falen indulged herself in imagining lecturing her father, finger wagging as she listed his responsibilities. 
“Where could he have gone?” she asked Lidda.
Lidda crossed her arms. “I suggest you talk to that monk of yours. I’ll bet he’s got something to do with this.” 
“Nashir?” Falen laughed but then sobered abruptly as she remembered the moment when the monk had grasped her father’s wrist. Nashir’s eyes had been filled with a strange light. And something … something had passed between them. 
“Wait here,” she instructed Lidda as she ran out the door. 
The old woman’s voice followed her out. “But I haven’t brushed your hair! And you’re still wearing your work clothes!” 
Falen pelted down the corridor and raced down the steps two at a time. She approached the infirmary door, thinking how ridiculous this was, when she was halted by a sound coming from within. 
Was that —? Yes! Laughter! She’d recognize her father’s baritone guffaw anywhere. 
She rapped her knuckles on the door and then pushed her way inside.
“Princess!” cried Nashir as she entered. “Welcome! Come in, please.”
Nashir and her father were seated in comfy chairs by Nashir’s bed. Her father sat with his legs stretched out, holding a cup of tea. He looked around as Falen entered.
“Good afternoon, daughter,” he said, smiling.  “I’ve been getting to know your friend here. A most learned man. I’m almost glad you went riding against my permission!”
“You hear that, Princess?” Nashir said. “Almost a compliment! I think I’m blushing! Your father and I have been discussing the finer points of the works of the Chellin poet, Rallivere.”
“Rallivere? Wasn’t he the one that got banished because his work was a satire on the Chellin priesthood?”
“The very same. And widely regarded as a genius of literature. Would you like some tea, Princess?” Nashir picked up a pot and offered it to Falen.
“No, thank you.” She turned to her father. “Lord Malwyn’s ceremony should have started half a bell ago, father. What are you doing here?”
The king frowned. “Curse it all! I completely forgot. No doubt Lord Baylan is grumbling already?”
“You could say that.”
You forgot, father? Falen thought. You forgot your closest ally? 
“My humblest apologies, Your Majesty,” said Nashir. “I had no idea I was keeping you from royal affairs.”
The king waved away Nashir’s apology. He set his wine glass down and climbed to his feet. “We will carry on this conversation at another time, Nashir. I look forward to hearing your opinions on Rallivere’s later works, after he was forced to flee to the Isle of Ashon.”
“A most interesting subject, Your Majesty. Some say his works in exile showed a much darker aspect of the man. Well, until next time.” 

***

Falen trotted along at her father’s side as they strode through the corridors of the palace. She wanted to ask him a whole host of questions but couldn’t seem able to find the words and he made no effort at conversation. They reached the open double doors into the audience hall. The guards saluted and announced the king.
Unruffled and every inch the king, her father strode regally into the chamber. Falen did her best to emulate his poise, even though she was now acutely aware that she was still wearing her scruffy trousers and her hair resembled a bird’s nest.
Well-dressed figures turned to regard Falen and her father as they made their procession down the hall. Lord Baylan Sigard and his son sat on chairs at the front. The king strode up the three steps and took his seat on the throne.
Falen took the seat reserved for her next to Lord Malwyn. As she sat Malwyn raised an eyebrow and his eyes roved up and down, taking in her un-brushed hair and lack of proper attire. Falen stared dead ahead, ignoring him completely.
The Lord Keeper rose from his seat and took his position in front of the throne. In a strident voice, belying his great age, he said, “Your Majesty, Your Highness, high lords and ladies of Variss. By the will of the Great Warrior and the compassion of The Mother, we are gathered for a most prestigious ceremony…”
Falen’s mind wandered. She began running over her stormglass plans. Tomorrow she would take her plans to the glassblower and get them to run her up a prototype. Then she would go to the library and dig out information on quicksilver and how to obtain it. 
Her eyes came to rest on her father. He had sat back in the throne, almost slumped against the polished oak. One hand rested on the throne’s arm and his fingers were drumming on the wood. His eyes had an unfocused look and kept continually moving over the crowd as though looking for something. Nobody else seemed to have noticed, fixed as they were on the Lord Keeper’s droning speech.
Finally, the Lord Keeper fell silent and turned expectantly towards the king. He was staring out of the window and there was a moment of heavy silence before he seemed to realize all eyes had fallen on him. 
He snapped to attention and bellowed, “Who claims to be a warrior of Variss?”
Lord Malwyn surged to his feet. “I, Lord Malwyn Sigard, do so claim.”
“Who judges this warrior worthy?”
Lord Baylan stood. “I so judge him worthy.”
“By what deeds do you judge him so?”
Now there followed the endless recitals of Lord Malwyn’s prowess in battle. Although considering Variss had been at peace for decades, Falen wondered how he could have achieved said prowess. Whacking dummies on the practice court or disarming a squire too terrified to put up a fight hardly counted, in Falen’s opinion.
At last, the list of Lord Malwyn’s accomplishments stuttered to a halt. The king stood and made a great show of staring down at Lord Malwyn, as though weighing up everything he had heard before he made his decision. Then he nodded.
“Lord Malwyn Sigard. You are indeed a worthy warrior of Variss.”
He took the ceremonial sword from the Lord Keeper and touched the flat of the blade to each of Lord Malwyn’s shoulders.
“Arise, Sir Malwyn, knight and true warrior of Variss.”
Malwyn rose and turned to take the applause of the crowd. Falen dutifully joined in although her clapping was somewhat slow and lacking in enthusiasm.
“Excellent!” announced the king, rubbing his hands together. “I’ll see you all at the feast tonight!”
And with that he descended the dais and strode from the hall, leaving the onlookers gaping after him. Falen sat upright in her chair. What was he doing? What about the speeches? The congratulations to the newly knighted and his father? 
Low mutterings broke out as everyone, like her, began trying to figure out exactly where her father had gone. Lord Baylan was staring after him, a tiny vein throbbing in his temple. If the situation wasn’t salvaged, this could turn out very poorly indeed.
Cursing under her breath, Falen stood, walked to the top of the dais and turned to face the crowd. She smiled even though inside her stomach was churning.
“High lords and ladies of Variss. My father begs your indulgence. He has been suffering with an illness today that has kept him from performing his most treasured duties. He begs your forgiveness and promises to see you at the feast tonight. He has left this afternoon’s ceremonies in my hands.”
She grabbed a glass of wine from a nearby servant and raised it high. “A toast. A toast to Lord Malwyn, newly appointed knight of Variss!”
As the others followed her lead, and the angry muttering died away, Falen felt a tiny sliver of relief. Mostly, though, she felt annoyed. How dare her father leave her in this predicament? But one thing was sure: if he ever dared lecture her about her responsibilities again, she would throttle him!



Chapter 6



Falen glared at the door to her father’s chamber. It had remained closed since she and Lidda had arrived a bell ago. What could her father be doing in there? The High Priest of The Mother, a crotchety old man who’d scared Falen no end when she was younger, had entered the chamber but nobody else was allowed. Were he and her father talking? Praying? Falen wished they’d hurry up. She hated this day. Better to get it over with. 
Captain Yorgesson stood by the outer door. His face was expressionless but now and then his eyes moved towards the inner door. He too was wondering when the king would emerge. 
Falen sighed, crossing her arms and slumping down in her seat. A week had passed since Lord Malwyn’s ceremony. During that time, she had seen little of her father, or of Nashir, since the two men were spending more and more time together. 
Lord Baylan had been furious with the king’s conduct at the knighting ceremony. But her father didn’t seem to care. He asked them to leave the morning after the ceremony without offering an apology.  Falen frowned as she thought about the possible political implications of that. Still, at least she didn’t have to see Malwyn anymore. 
The door opened with a click. Falen and Lidda jumped at the sudden noise. Hurriedly rising to her feet and brushing down her tunic, Falen watched as first her father and then the High Priest of The Mother strode into the waiting area. Her father looked imposing in his black and silver outfit. He took in Falen, Lidda and Captain Yorgesson with a sweep of his gray eyes, and nodded once in acknowledgement. The High Priest of The Mother’s round face was always pink and sweaty but Falen thought he looked particularly uneasy today. There were frown lines around his eyes and a vein throbbed in his temple.
Falen took a step towards her father. “Everyone’s ready. What do you want—”
Falen faltered as Nashir strode from the king’s chamber and stood by his side.  
Lidda gasped. Her cheeks turned pale, her eyes fixed on the monk. She looked like a bristling cat at the sight of a dog.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed. “You’ve no right to be here! This is a private occasion!”
Nashir said not a word and stood with his hands clasped in front of him and his head bowed as if in somber contemplation. 
“Enough, Lidda,” said the king. “Nashir is here at my invitation. I have found his counsel most…helpful.”
The high priest shot a venomous glance at Nashir. He clearly resented being supplanted.
“You were saying, Falen?” prompted the king.
Falen forced herself to focus on her father. “Er, yes, everything is ready, father. We await your word.”
He nodded, his bearded face somber. “Lead the way, high priest.”
The little procession left the royal apartments. The High Priest of The Mother walked ahead, alone. From the stiff set of the man’s shoulders, Falen could tell he was furious. It was usual for the king and priest to walk together: the spiritual and secular leaders of Variss side-by-side. But not today. Today Nashir, the stranger and a monk of foreign gods, walked sedately by the king’s side.
Falen wondered if her father was even aware of the insult he had given to Variss’s most important cleric. Lidda walked at Falen’s side, her eyes fixed on Nashir as though she was trying to burn holes in his back. Captain Yorgesson brought up the rear of the procession. Falen turned and gave him a brief smile, wanting him to know how grateful she was for his solid presence. His eyes met hers and a small smile quirked his lips.
I’ll be here, the look said. I’m with you.
Too soon for Falen’s liking, they reached a heavy door which stood open. Beyond the door lay darkness, punctuated only by the flickering of torches. The doorway looked to Falen like a hungry mouth waiting to swallow her. Lidda reached out to squeeze her arm. Falen smiled back briefly. 
The high priest strode through the door and down the steps. The procession followed, first the king, then Nashir, then Lidda. Finally it was her turn. Pulling in a deep breath, Falen followed.
The smell of decay hit her. The walls of the narrow staircase had been plastered sometime in the past but the years had turned much of the plaster bubbly and damp. The steps themselves had been worn smooth by the passage of many feet. 
At the bottom lay the huge galleried chambers of the royal tombs of Variss. 
A wide corridor stretched away from Falen. On each side archways led into vaulted rooms, each containing the tomb of one of Falen’s ancestors. The chambers furthest away were the oldest, and for Falen, the most disturbing. Those crumbling sarcophagi, carved with glyphs and symbols that had long fallen out of use, held the remains of kings and queens many thousands of years gone. Pictures of strange beasts and gods whose names had been forgotten adorned those tombs. 
In some rooms standing stones had been erected, tall obelisks that stood sentinel for the dead. In others, bones lay in disorganized heaps, all that remained of the king or queen’s servants and animals from the time when it was fashionable for servants to die along with their master. 
The high priest led them into the nearest chamber. Ducking through the archway, Falen found herself in a rectangular room with a high ceiling. In the exact center was a large marble coffin with the statue of a woman lying atop it. 
Servants had lit torches along the walls. Vases of flowers had been placed around the coffin, adding a summer scent to the stale air.
Falen stared at her mother’s marble face. The sculptors had done a remarkable job in capturing Queen Anna’s youthful looks and sparkling eyes. Falen wanted to remember her mother like that, rather than the withered, broken thing she’d been after the Blacklung Fever had taken its toll. 
 She and her father had been through this ritual every year since her mother died. Every year. Falen had come to dread it. 
Falen took the rose Lidda handed her and placed it on the statue’s breast. She stood for a moment, remembering the woman her mother had been. The woman of bright smiles and easy laughter. The woman of fresh air and skies and walks in summer meadows. She stood back, giving her father space.
King Beorl Godwinsson stepped up to the tomb and ran the back of one hand over the face. Tears sparkled in his eyes. His lips moved, uttering words Falen couldn’t hear. He straightened and stood at the head of the tomb, hands clasped and head bowed.
On cue, the High Priest of The Mother spoke.
“Holy Mother, dam of us all, we beseech that you hear our words. A year has passed since we last gathered to remember this soul, a year in which we have followed your teachings and lived our lives guided by your light. We ask you to hear us today so Queen Anna may in turn know how much she is missed. We thank you, our mother, for the gift of Queen Anna’s life and understand that in your wisdom you decided to take her from us and that she now walks by your side in the Mountains of Summer.”
“Does she?” The king snapped.
Surprised, the high priest looked up. “Sire?”
“Does she walk in the Mountains of Summer?”
“Of course, sire. Queen Anna was beloved of The Mother. She resides in glory by Her side.”
“How do you know that?” 
The king’s voice held an undercurrent of anger that made Falen uneasy. Why did her father have to torture himself like this year after year? Why would he not let her go? 
“You talk of these summerlands as if you know them. You don’t. You just drool these words as if they mean something,” said the king.
“Doubt is part of faith, sire,” the high priest replied. “Should we only have faith in The Mother when things are easy? When we have all the answers? Our faith is tested when things are hard. During these times we must hold most strongly to it.”
“Why must I, priest?” the king said, his voice echoing off the walls of the tomb. “Why must I live my life hoping one day things will be better?”
“Because it is The Mother’s way. She gives us guidance, she gives us comfort, but in return we must show faith in Her. We must choose to believe that what She does, She does out of compassion. Nothing is without reason.”
The king looked down at this wife’s stone face. “Reason? What reason could She have for taking Anna? What reason could there be for leaving Variss without a queen? For leaving Falen without a mother? For leaving me without a wife? Tell me, priest. What reason did She have for that?”
“The Mother works in her own way—”
“You mean you don’t know!” The king’s face flushed with fury. “You can’t answer any of my questions because you know nothing! You ask me to put my faith in a goddess who cares nothing! I am through with Her!”
The high priest held out a hand, “Your Majesty, please—”
“No! I am done with The Mother.” He took a few steps towards the high priest, who flinched back as though fearing a blow. “I am done with gods who care nothing! Do you hear? I am done with them all!”
Nashir darted forward, placing himself between the high priest and the king, as though to shield the priest from the king’s anger.
“Your Majesty, your wife’s death is not this man’s fault. He does not deserve your anger.”
“How dare you?” the king spat. “Get out of my way! You know nothing of me or my family. Get out of my way or I will have you flogged!”
But Nashir stood his ground. “You must let go of this grief, Your Majesty. Before it devours you.”
“Who are you to lecture me?”
“Just a man, my lord. Someone who sees your pain.”
“Shut up! You know nothing.” He stepped close to Nashir, fists clenched.
“I know you are consumed by regret,” Nashir said, facing the king calmly. “By pain. By grief. You must let it go.”
“I can’t,” the king whispered, shaking his head. “It’s all there is.”
“Not so. The Lords of Life would take it from you.”
The king laughed manically. “More false gods? I’ve had my fill of them!”
“They are not false. I will show you if you choose.”
The king seemed to shrink in on himself. “They can’t help me.”
Nashir shook his head, his bald pate catching the torchlight. “They will help anyone who asks for it. See.” He lunged forward suddenly and clasped the king’s face between his spindly hands. “See!”
Everything seemed to happen at once. Captain Yorgesson drew his sword and darted towards the king. Lidda spun around and began shouting at the high priest as if expecting him to intervene. Falen blinked, not sure what to do. 
The torches flared, light erupting through the chamber. Falen cried out, throwing an arm across her eyes. 
The light faded to reveal the king on his knees, facing Nashir. Captain Yorgesson swept his sword up and pressed the tip against the base of Nashir’s throat.
“Back away. Now.”
Nashir looked at the blade and then at the king. 
King Beorl reached towards Captain Yorgesson. “Put your sword away, captain. It’s not needed.”
The captain frowned at Nashir but re-sheathed his sword as instructed. Falen went down on her knees by the king’s side. 
“Father? Are you all right?”
He didn’t answer. His eyes were wide and unfocused as though looking on something within.
“What have you done to him?” Falen demanded of Nashir.
“I ? I have done nothing, Princess. The Lords of Life have taken your father’s pain. He is free.”
“He’s right,” the king said. “I can feel…something. Here, inside. I feel…alive.” He looked around, his eyes finding Falen’s and he broke into a smile. The expression on his face suggested he was seeing her properly for the first time in a long time. “Ah, Falen. Daughter. I’ve missed you.”
He reached out and folded her in a tight embrace. After a moment, Falen returned the embrace, burying her face in her father’s shoulder. 
And, for once, she wasn’t ashamed of the tears rolling down her cheeks. 



Chapter 7



Four days later, Falen woke early. She sat up in bed and stretched. Dust motes danced in the shafts of light streaming through gaps in the curtains. The palace was quiet, still. None of the servants had come in yet. Perfect. 
A flutter of excitement rising in her belly, Falen climbed out of bed and dressed. She left her chamber and made her way through the palace corridors quickly and silently. 
When she reached the door to her workshop she paused, looking round to make sure nobody had seen her, then went inside. 
She’d set up a workbench in the center of the room, upon which she’d assembled her latest stormglass design, the design Nashir had helped her with. The prototype consisted of two pieces: a glass tray and a glass tube about three paces in length. On this, she’d marked measurements in regular intervals. At the moment, the two pieces lay on the workbench, unused. All she needed now was the final ingredient to make it work. 
Falen ran her hands over the glass tube. Could the answer really be so simple? Would this design be enough to get her into the academy? She’d shortly find out. 
Glancing through the window, Falen saw the sun starting to peak through Ragnar’s Gap at the end of the valley. Good. He’d soon be here. 
As if on cue, there was a knock on the door. Falen hurried to answer it. 
A cloaked figure carrying a satchel stood outside. Falen pulled the door wide, and the person swept past her into the room. Falen closed the door and faced her visitor.
“Thank you for coming,” Falen said. “Did you have any trouble with the guards?”
The figure pushed down the hood to reveal a hook-nosed man with eyebrows like caterpillars. “No, Princess. The royal scroll you sent me did the job.”
Falen nodded. “You have what I asked for?”
“I do.” He placed the satchel on the bench and opened it. Inside was a large stoppered flask which he carefully lifted out and held up to the light. The liquid inside sparkled. “I must say, Princess, my colleagues took some persuading to allow me to bring you this. The Honorable Guild of Alchemists does not easily share their secrets.”
“Oh, I don’t plan on doing any alchemy.”
His eyebrows rose. “You’re not trying to turn things to gold?”
“Er, no. That’s not possible.”
“What?” His face went white with shock, as though she’d uttered a profanity. “Of course it’s possible! It has been the goal of alchemists since the beginning of time. We won’t rest until we find the secret!”
“Right, fine. Whatever you say,” Falen replied, not wanting to get into a debate. “But rest assured I won’t be trying to steal your victory.”
He frowned at her, as though not entirely sure of her motives. He put the flask down on the workbench and stepped back. “Then I won’t ask why you want this substance.  But I must warn you, quicksilver is dangerous. You must handle it with care.”
“Dangerous how?”
He scratched his nose. “In some places quicksilver is named demon’s blood because it sends people mad.”
Falen bent over, peering at the silver liquid in the flask. The alchemist held out an arm to hold her back. “Careful, Princess. Always wear gloves and a mask when working with it. Here.” He pulled a pair of thick leather gloves and a face scarf from the satchel and held them out. 
Falen took them. “Thanks for your help, alchemist. I’m sure the royal treasury will be making a large donation to your guild this year.”
He inclined his head. “A pleasure, Princess.” He bowed and left the room. 
Falen waited for the door to close behind him then turned to look at the flask. This was it. The thing she’d been waiting for. The key to her experiment and a place in the academy. She pulled on the gloves and tied the scarf around her mouth and nose. For good measure she put on her thick leather apron and approached the workbench. 
She lifted the flask and swirled the contents. She’d never seen anything like it before. The substance looked like solid silver, yet when she shook the flask, it swirled round like syrup. 
She picked up the glass tube and inspected it, turning it around in her hands. Satisfied, she carefully emptied the flask into the tube. When this was full she poured the rest of the liquid into the tray and up-ended the tube into the tray, resting it on supports so it stood upright, the tube’s mouth just below the surface of the quicksilver. 
Falen stepped back, hands held out ready to rescue the stormglass should anything go wrong. 
After a few moments she began to relax. The stormglass seemed stable. Pulling off the scarf and gloves, she dragged a stool over to the workbench and sat, perching her notebook on her knee. 
Through the window Falen could see that clouds had filled the sky to the north, turning the morning dark and gloomy. She could no longer see the sun poking through Ragnar’s Gap.  
Falen thumbed through her notes to the appropriate page. If her theory was correct the stormy conditions meant air pressure was low. And if she’d designed the stormglass correctly, the level of quicksilver should drop. 
If. 
Falen shifted on the stool, making herself comfortable and settled down to wait. Time dragged by. Every quarter bell, Falen read the level of the quicksilver in the tube and noted down the weather conditions each time. Finally, after several hours’ observation and several pages of information, Falen stretched and hopped down from the stool. She moved over to a table, sat down and spread her notes out. 
Chewing her lip, she scrutinized her readings, running her fingers down the rows of numbers. 
She gasped, feeling heat rush into her face. Yes! The readings fitted her theory! As the stormy conditions worsened, the level of quicksilver steadily dropped. A wave of giddy relief washed over her. She’d done it. She’d really done it! Surely she’d get into the academy now?
Falen opened a draw and pulled out her rolled up application. She’d completed most of it already. All that was left was to copy in her latest readings. With a trembling hand she carefully copied her list of figures, ending with a written explanation of her theories. Lastly, she rolled up a schematic of the stormglass design and attached it to the application. 
“Here you are!”
Falen jumped at the sudden voice. Lidda stood in the doorway, arms folded, foot tapping the floor in annoyance. 
“Er, morning, Lidda,” 
“Don’t you, ‘morning Lidda’ me, young lady.” The old woman replied, stomping into the room and glowering down at Falen. “I got such a fright when I found your bedchamber empty this morning. What have you been doing?”
“Er, nothing.” 
Lidda glanced behind, as if to make sure the door was shut.  “I want to talk to you.”
There was worry in the old woman’s voice. Falen dragged over a chair and bade Lidda to sit. 
“What is it?”
“Nashir.”
Falen’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Oh? What about him?”
“What do you think?” Lidda snapped, frowning at Falen as if she was stupid. “That performance with your father the other day. I’ve been thinking about what happened and I don’t like it. You can’t believe it was all right, surely?”
“I know it was a bit unusual, but my father seems to like Nashir. There wasn’t any harm done.”
“No harm done?” cried Lidda. “He’s a stranger, someone we know nothing about and he’s squirming his way into your father’s confidence. It’s not right. I don’t trust him. “
“Why not?”
“He’s up to something, you mark my words. He’s corrupting your father.”
“Lidda, he’s helping father!” Falen replied. “Father is happier than I’ve seen him in years.”
And more likely to let me go to the academy, she thought to herself.
“He’s only been in Variss two minutes and he’s filling your father’s head with his foreign gods!” said Lidda.
Falen chewed her lip. She’d not given much thought to Nashir’s relationship with her father. Should she have been paying more attention? But Nashir had been nothing but helpful. 
She shook her head. “You’re worrying too much, Lidda. The doctors have said Nashir is almost fit to travel. I’m sure he’ll soon be returning to Esclede.”
Lidda looked at Falen for a long moment. She sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”
She frowned as her gaze settled on Falen’s application. “What’s that?”
Lidda leaned over and snatched it up. 
“Ral Tora? Engineering Academy?”  Sudden comprehension dawned on her face. “You’re applying to the academy aren’t you? Does your father know about this?”
Falen snatched the application back and smoothed it out on the table. Trust Lidda to walk in just at the wrong moment! “I haven’t told him yet, and I don’t want you telling him either. Promise me, Lidda!”
“I’ll promise no such thing! I thought you’d given up on this silly idea months ago! Your father will be furious when he finds out. What were you thinking?”
“If you shut up, I’ll tell you,” Falen snapped, stung to anger by the sharpness of the old servant’s words. She pointed at the stormglass. “Do you know what that does, Lidda? It measures air pressure. I can use it to analyze weather conditions. Possibly predict them. With this device I might be able to invent a storm warning system. Do you realize how valuable that would be? Imagine: fewer travelers stranded in the mountain passes, fewer herders and crofters lost to flash floods. It could be invaluable to a city like Variss and yet nobody cares. Nobody is interested in anything I do. My father thinks it’s a silly phase I’ll grow out of and I’ve heard what the common folk say about me. ‘There goes eccentric, pampered Falen. Too much time on her hands, that’s her problem. Get her a husband and a few squalling brats, that’ll soon sort her out.’” 
She snatched up the application and waved it in front of Lidda’s face. “But if I get into the academy then father will have to take me seriously. People will have to stop sniggering behind my back!”
Lidda did not look impressed. “And your duties here? Would you abandon them?”
Falen snorted. “Duties? You mean signing a few documents that father’s ministers shove in front of me? I’m sure the kingdom won’t collapse if I’m not here to do that! Father has years left on the throne. I’ll do my training and then come back.”
Lidda’s eyes narrowed. “Falen, this attitude is not becoming of a princess.”
“I don’t care! I want to go somewhere people will understand me!”
“You should be careful what you wish for, my girl,” Lidda snapped. “It might just come true.”
Falen sagged, tired of arguing. “Please, Lidda. I need to do this.”
Lidda remained silent, gazing steadily into Falen’s eyes. Finally, she sighed. “Ah, Falen. Even when you were a little girl I could barely keep up with you. Always asking questions. Always wanting to know where the next exciting adventure would come from. I shouldn’t be surprised you’ve outgrown Variss. Very well. Make your application. I won’t stand in your way.”
Falen grinned. “Thanks, Lidda. Now, I need to send it off without my father finding out. And I’m going to need your help.”
Lidda groaned.

***

Falen waited outside the office of the Varisean messenger service, chewing her thumbnail. She pulled her hood down further, hoping nobody would recognize her. How long could it take to send off one little message tube? Lidda had been in there for half a bell already!
The door opened and Lidda emerged. Falen hurried over.
“Did you send it?” 
 “Yes, I sent it. I must be mad.”
Falen threw her arms around the old woman’s shoulders and hugged her tight. “Thanks, Lidda. I won’t forget this.”
Lidda scowled but Falen thought she saw the ghost of a smile trying to curl her lips. Sighing, the old woman put her arm through Falen’s. 
“Come on, let’s get back to the palace. You’ve got a privy council meeting this afternoon.”
They set off through the streets of Variss. The storm had blown through, leaving the day warm and sultry. As a result, people filled the streets, enjoying the sunshine and taking the opportunity to do some shopping. 
As they made their way back, Falen noticed that a crowd had gathered up ahead, blocking the street. Falen went up on her tiptoes to look over the top but it was too tightly packed for her to make out the cause.
“One of the drains flooding again, I’ll wager,” Lidda growled. “I must have told the guildsman about them at least five times. But does he listen? Of course not! He knows best.” 
Falen turned to the person next to her. “What’s the problem?” 
The young man shrugged. “Cart’s broken an axel and shed its load. There’s masonry stone all over the street. I was supposed to be at work ten minutes ago. My master’s going to be furious but it’s not my fault, is it?”
“Hang on,” said Falen as a thought struck her. “What’s the stone being used for?”
“How should I know?” said the young man. “I heard someone say there’s some building going up in the temple district.”
Falen frowned, stretching to look over the heads of those in front. “No building work has been approved in this area,” she said to Lidda. She should know, the city planning committee was one of the many tedious meetings she’d been forced to sit through. “Come on, Lidda, I want to get to the front.”
“Follow me,” Lidda said. She elbowed her way through the crowd, Falen following. 
At the end of the street a group of harassed-looking workers had organized themselves into a line and were busy trying to clean up a jumble of stone blocks that had spilled across the street. Falen approached the man giving orders who was, she assumed, the foreman. 
“Where is this stone headed?” she asked, pulling down her hood.
The man’s eyes widened as he realized who was addressing him.  “To the temple district, Your Highness.”
“What for? Are repairs needed on The Mother’s Temple? The Great Warrior’s?”
“No, Your Highness. We’re putting in the foundation trenches for the new temple.”
Falen stared. “New temple?”
The foreman fidgeted. “We got the plans through yesterday. Had the royal seal and everything. A temple to the Lords of Life to be built on the site of the old remembrance garden. The architects are over there now. They’ll be spitting blood at this delay. Still, what am I supposed to do if they give me sub-standard equipment? This cart here’s good for nothing.” He launched into a monologue about how you couldn’t get decent materials these days. 
Falen stopped listening. Above the roofs she saw the dome of the temple of The Mother reflecting the sunlight. Beyond it, slightly further east rose the tower of The Great Warrior. These two temples had stood in Variss for generations. Falen had never heard of a new god being accepted here. Why had her father allowed this? He must know how this would enrage the clergy. 
She turned back to the foreman, cutting through his tirade. “I’ll send some men to help you get this cleared up. Otherwise you are going to have a mob of angry shoppers on your hands.” 
As they strode towards the palace Lidda was unusually silent. She wore a strange expression on her face. To Falen, it looked like fear.
Once back in the palace, Falen marched straight to the infirmary. She would speak to Nashir and find out what was going on. There must be a simple explanation to all this. 
Pushing open the infirmary door, she realized all the beds were empty. A young maid was busy cleaning. She dropped a curtsey as Falen entered.
“Your…Your Highness.”
Falen craned her neck to look past the girl. “I’m here to see Nashir.”
“He’s not here, Your Highness.”
“Oh. When will he be back?”
“Begging, your pardon, but he won’t, Highness. He’s gone.” The maid stepped back to allow Falen to step into the room. The bed had been stripped and the sheets heaped by the door. A mop and bucket stood in one corner. 
“Do you know where he’s gone?”
“Housekeeper said he’s been given a room in the royal wing, Highness.”
“The royal wing? Are you sure?”
The maid shifted nervously. “That’s what I heard, Highness.”
“Right. Thanks.” 
She turned on her heel and left. Falen’s mind whirled. What was happening here? First a temple to the Lords of Life, now rooms in the royal wing. Was Lidda right to worry about Nashir?
 She tracked down the housekeeper to find out where Nashir was staying, then hurried to the room. He’d been given a suite close to the king’s personal chambers, almost directly above Falen’s own. It was a suite normally used as guest quarters for visiting monarchs. The last to use it had been Lady Astrid, the Regal of Chellin. 
As Falen strode up to the door, her unease deepened. A servant ushered Falen into an opulent living room with high windows looking out over the city. 
Nashir rose from a seat where he’d been reading. A small smile curled his lips. His tattered red robe was gone, to be replaced by a thickly brocaded robe of red and gold. A stylized serpent had been stitched around the collar, making it look as though he had a snake draped over his shoulders.
“Princess. How lovely to see you.”
Was it just her imagination or did Nashir’s smile look forced?
“I thought I’d come and see how you’re settling into your new rooms.”
“Did you now? That’s very kind. I’m settling in fine. Was there anything else?”
Falen bridled at the dismissive tone of his voice. “Well, yes there was actually. I thought you might like to know that construction of your new temple may be delayed a little. There was an accident with the foundation stones.”
Anger flared in Nashir’s eyes. “Accident? Why wasn’t I informed?” He took two steps towards her, fists clenched, then paused and closed his eyes, seeming to gather himself. He looked at her. “Forgive me, Princess. I’m eager for the Lords of Life to begin Their good works here in Variss. The temple is just the start.”
“No doubt. I’m a little amazed you managed to get this organized so quickly. New building projects normally take months to get approved.”
“Not when they have royal backing, Princess. Your father has become very determined in this matter.”
Has he now? Falen said to herself. Then why has he not spoken of this to me or any of his ministers? 
“A new temple will require clergy, Nashir. Priests. Priestesses. Where will you find them in Variss?”
Her eyes settled on the silver ring on Nashir’s index finger and everything suddenly fell into place. Of course. Nashir himself would be the high priest. With all the power it brought.
“As the Lords of Life spread Their message throughout Variss, They will reveal Their clerics to me. All will be as They wish.”
“And you?” Falen asked.
Nashir looked puzzled. “Me, Princess?”
“When you first came here you said you were a wandering monk, visiting all the works of the Lords of Life. And yet you speak as though you’re planning on staying in Variss.”
Nashir’s gaze flicked towards the books lying strewn across the table. “Sometimes the Lords of Life have a different plan for us. I believe it was Their will that led me here and Their will that I remain. Your father has been kind enough to give me the opportunity of spreading the word of my gods. I will be the new high priest of a new temple.”
And the seat on the council that position brings? Falen asked silently. What will you do with that, high priest? 
Her eyes flicked to the books he’d been reading. She saw maps of the Sisters, and in particular of Black Seza. She saw memoirs of mountaineers who had tried and failed to scale her summit. What was his interest in those mountains? Was it passing curiosity? Or was it more than that? Had he been telling her the truth when he claimed he’d been sightseeing?
“I never thanked you for the other day.”
“Thank me, Princess?”
“I don’t know what happened in my mother’s tomb, but whatever you did, it seems to have unlocked my father’s heart for the first time in years.” 
“I did nothing, Princess. The Lords of Life love all Their children and hate to see suffering. They bring peace to any who open their heart to Them. I believe this is what touched your father.”
“Well, whatever it was, I’m glad of it.”
He smiled briefly and his eyes flicked towards his books. Falen noticed he had scribbled notes around the edges of one of the maps. Although Falen couldn’t make out the words, they seemed clustered around one of the routes from Variss to Black Seza.
“If there is nothing else, Princess, I must get on. I’m very busy.”
“Oh. Right. I thought you might want to know how the stormglass modifications went—”
“Didn’t I tell you what you needed to do?” Nashir snapped.
“Well, yes,” Falen stammered, thrown off balance by the impatience in his tone, “but I thought you might be interested since it’s your designs I’m following.” 
“I don’t have time. I’m very busy.”
“Doing what? Reading?” She stooped and picked up one of the books. It was dusty as if it had sat untouched on some forgotten shelf for years. The title was written in ancient Varisean runes, which Falen struggled to recall from her classes with her tutors.
“Legends of the Quiet Land,” she read after a moment.
Nashir sprang forward and ripped the book out of Falen’s hands. “Don’t touch that! It’s none of your business!”
There was an odd quality to his voice, a grating undercurrent like stones rolling in an avalanche. The room seemed darker, the shadows thick and viscous. On the mantelpiece, a candle fluttered and went out.
Falen stepped back. Nashir took a step towards her, tall and looming. Gone was the kindly old man. Gone was the easy smile and the eyes full of laughter. Instead, here stood a high priest in his power, tall, intimidating and full of menace.
But in the next instant Nashir stepped back and smiled. Suddenly he was the kindly old man again.
“Forgive me, Princess. I am not myself. I fear the Lords of Life have given me a heavy burden and I must learn to embrace it.” As he stepped back, his robe fell askew, revealing a patch of white skin on his shoulder. Across this patch of skin crawled the swirling tattoo Falen had noticed the day she rescued him. Only it seemed darker somehow, more vivid than before, and drew Falen’s gaze with its strange, cavorting design.
Falen blinked. She tried to force a light-hearted tone into her voice. “It looks as though you’ve been busy in the royal library.”
The monk shrugged. “I’m ever a scholar, Princess. And after all, Variss is my home now.” 
Falen forced her face to remain impassive. “Of course, and seeing as how you almost died up in the Sisters, it makes sense that you would be curious about them.”
“Just that, Princess.”
Silence stretched between them.
“Right. I’ll leave you to your reading.” Falen glanced at the titles of the books, making a mental note of each and strode to the door. She tried to convince herself she wasn’t running away.

***

Falen flung open the door to her chambers, slammed it behind her, and threw herself down into a chair, chewing her lip in thought. Lidda looked up from where she was sewing by the window and raised an eyebrow.
“What happened?”
Falen looked at the old woman. Wrinkles creased her face and age spots covered her gnarled hands but her eyes still twinkled, bright with intelligence. She had mistrusted Nashir from the start.
Falen sat next to her. “The workmen were right, Lidda. Father sanctioned the temple. Nashir has been made the high priest and given a seat on the council.”
The blood drained from Lidda’s face.  “Mother preserve us! What is your father thinking?  That monk knows nothing about Variss. About our people. Our ways. He saunters in with his stories of foreign gods, uses some kind of trickery to win your father’s heart and now he’s suddenly a high priest and a council member? This is madness!” 
“I feel like an idiot,” Falen said. She thought back to the day she’d found Nashir in the river. “What if he planned all this? Would that be possible? Could me finding him have been part of his plan?”
Lidda put down her sewing. “Who knows? He could be some kind of black magician come from some faraway land to kill us all!”
Falen raised her eyebrow. “I wouldn’t go that far, Lidda.”
Lidda pointed a bony finger at Falen. “That man has evil intentions, Falen. You mark my words. Don’t trust him. Don’t let him get any closer to your father.”
Falen paused, staring into Lidda’s eyes. They were so full of conviction Falen found herself being swayed. Could Lidda be right? Could she, Falen, have made a terrible misjudgment?
“All right. This is what we are going to do. Before I can confront my father, I need evidence that Nashir is up to no good. He is researching something and has taken loads of books out of the library. It’s as though he’s looking for something. I’m going to talk to the librarian and find out what books he’s taken out so we can figure out what exactly he’s after. In the meantime, I want you to go and speak to as many scholars or historians as you can find. I want to know everything about Nashir’s sect and how they operate in Esclede.”
Lidda nodded. “I’ll get on it right away.”
There was a sharp knock on the door which Lidda hurried to answer. One of the king’s footmen stood outside. 
“The king requests the presence of Princess Falen immediately.”


Chapter 8



Falen ran through all the questions she wanted to ask her father but they died on her lips as she stepped in to the throne room. The cavernous room was almost unrecognizable. All of her mother’s paintings had gone. In their place, the walls had been draped with cloth in a hundred different shades of red. 
She gaped, unable to believe that after all these years her father would take down her mother’s paintings. How many times had she found him staring at them as though they were the only things that gave him pleasure? She was so stunned it took a moment for her to notice her father sitting on the throne, watching her expectantly.
“Falen?”
Nashir sat on a stool at the side of the throne. His hands were folded demurely in his lap and he smiled warmly at Falen. She strode purposefully down the hall, her boots clicking on the flagstone floor. She came to a halt in front of her father and stood looking up at him as though she was some supplicant come to ask his blessing.
“You wanted to see me, father?”
He smiled. “Don’t look so worried, daughter. I’ve called you here for a very important reason. A very happy reason, actually.” He glanced at Nashir who smiled at him as if they shared some secret joke.
“I wish to discuss your marriage.”
Falen blinked. “My what?”
“Your marriage, Falen. Your wedding day. The day women look forward to all their lives. Or so I’m told.”
Sudden nausea roiled in Falen’s stomach. “Whoever told you that didn’t know what they were talking about,” she croaked. 
The king waved a hand dismissively. “Perhaps. I understand it’s not something you would choose, Falen. However, it’s past time you had a husband. Most women of your station would have been married years ago. Variss needs an heir and for that you need a husband.”
The air in the room had become so hot Falen thought she might pass out. Her thoughts turned fragmented and slippery, sliding away from her like broken shards of glass. 
The king seemed not to notice her discomfort. Didn’t notice or didn’t care. “I’ve selected your husband from one of the most noble houses of Variss. Your wedding will cement the union of two great houses and thereby ensure the stability and continued prosperity of the realm.”
Falen had the strongest urge to run. She itched to pelt from the room as fast as she could. But she didn’t. She stood on shaky legs as her father pronounced her doom. “You will wed Lord Malwyn Sigard. I will dispatch a messenger to Rise Tower this evening. We will begin the wedding preparations at once.”
The swirling emotions inside her solidified into a hard lump of fury. How dare he? How dare he sit there and dictate the rest of her life as if she had no choice?
“I won’t do it,” she said, fixing her gaze on her father’s steely gray eyes. “I would rather die a spinster than spend my life with that reptile of a man.”
“Lord Malwyn is a fine match. He is young, brave and well versed in the matters of state.”
“He is an arrogant, conniving pig who whips his servants when they displease him!”
“Have a care, Falen. You are insulting the son of my closest friend.”
“I don’t care!” She yelled, hands curling into fists. “I won’t do it! If you like him so much, you marry him!”
“You will do as I tell you, Falen.”
“You can’t make me!” 
Oh, didn’t she sound just like a petulant child! The spoiled princess throwing a tantrum. But she didn’t care. She would shout and scream and throw things if that’s what it took. She couldn’t marry that oaf. She just couldn’t. To have to listen to his endless boasting. To share a bed with him. To have him touch her… The thought made her shudder.
Nashir held up a hand and spoke. “Perhaps this is not the right time, Your Majesty.”
Her father looked at him. “What do you mean?”
The monk smiled. “The Lords of Life bless the union of marriage. But only if it is the right union.”
“This is the right union, monk. Haven’t I just explained my reasons?”
Nashir nodded. “And good reasons they were, sire. Reasons of state and government. But what of the heart?”
The king scowled. “What of it?”
“Should a marriage not also be for love?”
Her father reached up to scratch his beard. “Falen will be queen one day, monk. Such sentiments will not help her rule. Politics must take precedence over sentiment. A marriage must bring political advantage.”
Nashir frowned as though the king’s words pained him. “Your words sadden me, sire. The Lords of Life value love above all else. After all, was your own marriage not one of the heart? Would you deny your daughter the gift you yourself were lucky enough to receive?”
Falen watched her father. He snapped his mouth shut and turned to look at Falen. Nashir had known exactly the right thing to say. After a moment, her father sighed heavily.
“Perhaps. All right, Falen. I will give this some more thought before anything final is decided upon.”
Falen felt giddy with relief. “Thank you, father.”
She drew in a shaky breath then turned and all but ran from the chamber. 
When she’d taken ten paces down the corridor a voice rang out behind her. 
“Wait please, Princess.”
Falen whirled. Nashir glided towards her, hands clasped in front of him. She waited in silence.
“I came to check you’re all right.”
Falen straightened. “I’m fine.”
His eyes gleamed. “Will there be no end to the debts between us, Princess? First, you save my life. Then I save your stormglass. Now I save you from marriage.”
Falen said nothing, unsure of what he was getting at.
“It would be a shame if your father suddenly changed his mind. If he decided you should be married after all. I do hope that doesn’t happen.”
“What do you mean?” 
“You are dear to me, Princess. I would not want to see you sent away to Rise Tower. I will do my best to make sure your father does not pursue this.”
“Thank you.”
He smiled. “But you must do something for me in return.”
Falen glanced down the corridor. The door to the throne room stood closed, the guards too far away to hear. “And what is that?”
“Support my new temple. There have been grumblings among the ministers but if you supported me, they would soon fall quiet.”
Fear squirmed down Falen’s back. The high priest’s voice was full of an unvoiced threat. Support me, or you will be married to Malwyn Sigard. Which will you choose, Princess?
His eyes, which she’d once thought so kind, suddenly seemed like raptor’s eyes. She swallowed.
“Very well. I’ll do what I can.”
Nashir bowed. “Most wise, Princess. Most wise.”

***

Almost a week later, Falen backed in through her chamber door, determined not to drop any of the books from the pile she carried. The pile was so high she could barely see over the top. Her arms ached from carrying them all the way from the library. She kicked the door shut, then hurried to the table and set down her burden with a thump. The pile of books toppled forward and cascaded over the table, one or two slipping off the edge and crashing to the floor.
It’s lucky the librarian didn’t see that, she thought, as she massaged her aching shoulders.
But where to start? She seated herself at the table and pulled over a book. This was the fourth pile of books she’d got from the library in as many days. How could Nashir read so quickly? And could she learn anything of value from them? She’d not had much luck so far.
The first was a collection of maps dating back several hundred years. Mostly they showed the terrain directly around Variss but towards the back she noticed several old maps charting paths into the Sisters. 
Squinting closer, she realized one of them seemed to show a path through the Sisters. As far as Falen was aware, nobody had ever crossed the Sisters. The mountain range was too high, too vast and inhospitable. Local belief said that nothing existed beyond the mountains except wilderness and eventually the ice caps at the top of the world. But on this map, a route had been marked out that seemed to snake up through the foothills to Black Seza’s knees. The route then continued up the east face of the mountain, over the summit, and down again deeper into the mountain range.
Is this what Nashir was looking for? Was he planning on exploring the mountains? Or trying to scale Black Seza? 
Pondering this, Falen set the book aside for later.
The next title read, A Compendium of Strange Beasts. The book was full of color sketches of bizarre beasts Falen was sure somebody had dreamt up. There were creatures of half-man, half-fish, great winged cats three times the size of a man and sea-serpents with teeth as long as Falen’s arm. Falen raised an eyebrow as she read, battling her amusement. This was the kind of book a parent might read to their child. What did the monk want with this?
Falen was beginning to doze, the writing in front of her swimming in and out of focus, when there was a knock on the door. Wiping her dusty hands on her tunic, she went to answer it. 
Griann, her elderly servant, stood outside. He bowed, holding out a leather cylinder. 
“Messenger just brought this up from the city, Your Highness.”
The message tube was sealed with a stamp depicting a sunburst over a tall tower: the seal of Ral Tora. 
Falen’s breath caught. This was it. A reply from the academy. 
“Thank you, Griann,” she mumbled, grasping the tube and shutting the door. 
She carried it over to the table and just stood there, looking at it. 
Get this over with, she told herself. 
She hurriedly broke the seal, pulled out the scroll and read. 
Falen Godwinsson is hereby granted acceptance into the Ral Toran Engineering Academy to begin training on the first day of Sembre. 
She gasped. Closed her eyes. Opened them again. Re-read the words. 
Yes they still said the same thing. She’d done it. She’d really done it. 
Falen waited for the elation to wash over her. It didn’t. In her mind she heard Lidda’s voice saying, “You should be careful what you wish for. It might just come true.”
Should she have heeded the old woman’s warning?
Falen tucked the scroll into her pocket as the door opened and Lidda trudged in. If the old woman’s expression was any indication, today had not gone according to plan. The scowl on her face could curdle milk. She clutched a book to her chest as she closed the door and leaned on it.
“What’s wrong?” asked Falen.
“I always thought young noblemen where the most annoying breed around. I was wrong. Scholars have to be the most self-obsessed, self-absorbed, most egotistical bunch of people on The Mother’s good clean earth!”
“And I bet you enjoyed telling them as much, didn’t you?”
Lidda sniffed. “I might have put them straight on a few things, yes.” She took a seat opposite Falen. “By The Mother, even more books!”
“This is only a fraction of the books Nashir’s borrowed. It’s going to take forever to look through all these, especially since I haven’t got a clue what I’m looking for!”
The old woman shook her head, making the beads in her braids clack together. “And I’m afraid I’ve not got much good news to tell you. I must have spoken to dozens of people over the last few days and you know what I’ve been able to find out about these Lords of Life? Precisely nothing.”
“What do you mean? They wouldn’t tell you?”
“They had nothing to tell. All I got were blank faces when I mentioned all the things you told me about. Nobody has heard of these Lords of Life. There are plenty of religions in Esclede, but Nashir’s isn’t one of them.”
Falen crossed her arms. “But how can that be? The way Nashir talks, they are well known in Esclede.”
Lidda shrugged. “I’m only telling you what the scholars told me. And that’s not the only thing. You know he said he’d been in Variss for a while before you rescued him on the mountain? Well, nobody has ever heard of him. There’s no record of him ever entering or leaving the city.”
“This makes no sense. He would have had to sign in at the south gate when he arrived. Did you check with the garrison?”
“Of course I did. No records. Nobody by the name of Nashir is recorded. In fact, the only visitors from Esclede were a couple of cloth merchants who left three days ago.”
Falen chewed her lip, thinking.
Lidda placed the book she’d been carrying onto the desk. “None of the scholars knew of his gods, but when I mentioned that you rescued him up in the Sisters, one of them gave me this.”
Falen pulled the book towards her. The leather cover was unadorned but showed a tracery of script, as though it had once had a title but the letters had since faded away. She flicked the book open, coughing at the dust that rose in a cloud. Brushing down the pages, she read the heading on the first page.
On the Treaty of Vaspara, the Sealing of the Rift, and the Guardianship accepted by the Varisean Royal Line.
Falen began reading aloud. “In the year 535, an accord was finally reached by all parties. The Rift would be sealed for all time and all contact with the Quiet Land would cease. The burden of guardianship of the Rift would be the responsibility of the royal line of Variss. The great leaders met in Variss: King Arnulf of Variss, Great Father Toran of Ral Tora, Regal Mirissa of Chellin, Grand Vizier Doxis of Esclede and Crown Princess Tilonia of Tirsay. Here follows an account of those negotiations as witnessed by Yanfrith, chief historian to the king of Variss.” 
Falen looked at Lidda. “What is this? I’ve never been told of this Rift or this meeting of great leaders. Why didn’t my tutors ever mention it? Where did you get this book?”
Lidda shifted in her seat, looking uncomfortable. “Why does it matter where I got it?”
“It matters, Lidda. Where did you get it?”
“Kallyn Senrose.”
Falen’s eyebrows shot up. “Kallyn Senrose of Whitehaven? Everyone knows he’s cracked!”
“You said talk to all the scholars in Variss. That’s what I did!”
Lidda grabbed the book. Turning to a page at the back, she turned the book around and pushed it towards Falen. “Look at this!”
On the page was a drawing, a swirling black design that seemed to move sinuously as Falen looked at it. The swirls and whorls almost seemed to describe a language, a message if you knew how to read it. Uneasiness settled into Falen’s bones. Sudden images came unbidden to her mind: secret passes through the mountains. Dark hands opening a door. And something waiting. Waiting on the other side. 
She had seen the pattern before. Tattooed on Nashir’s shoulder.
Falen tore her eyes away. “What is this?”
Lidda nodded towards the book. “Read.”
There were words written below the design. “The Guardians must be ever vigilant. There will come a day when they will seek to open the Rift. And you shall know him by his sign.”
Falen snapped the book shut, pushed it away as though its touch burned. The room felt suddenly cold. Falen hugged her arms over her chest. 
“You see?” Lidda asked. 
“I don’t know, Lidda. I just don’t know.” 
All the events of the last few weeks began to play out in her mind’s eye.  She saw herself jumping into the river to save Nashir. She saw him asking to see her father and the disappointment in his eyes when she’d said no. She saw him leading her through the corridors of Variss, as though he knew them intimately only to come out into the courtyard at exactly the right time to bump into her father. She saw him touch her father’s hand in the courtyard and for something to pass between them. She saw Nashir stride by her father’s side on the day of her mother’s anniversary, supplanting the High Priest of The Mother and then somehow easing her father’s pain, thereby opening him up to the influence of the Lords of Life.
“It was planned,” she whispered.
“What?” Lidda said. 
Falen looked up, met the old woman’s gaze. “Planned. From the very beginning. To get at my father. Get close to him. All so Nashir could get his claws into the heart of power in Variss.”
“By The Mother!” Lidda breathed. “What are you going to do?”
Falen curled her hands into fists. “I’m going to warn my father. And I’m going to stop Nashir.”



Chapter 9



As she strode into the royal apartments Falen was relieved to find her father alone. He sat at a table under the window, positioned to catch the sunlight. Tools were strewn across the table and he was busy at work on a half-finished carving that looked like it would eventually be a horse.
He glanced up as Falen entered. “Ah, perfect timing, daughter. Come and tell me what you think of my creation.”
Falen staggered to a halt. Her father was dressed casually, in a rough home-spun tunic and trousers you might expect to see on a common laborer. His right hand clutched a whittling knife.
Falen’s breath caught. She had not seen her father carving for more than five years. Carving had been one of his favorite hobbies but his interest in the pastime had died with her mother. Falen had never expected him to do it again. 
She forced words past the tightness in her throat, “Are you all right, father?”
“All the better for seeing you, daughter. Come, tell me what you think.”
Falen moved to her father’s side and looked down on the carving. His talent had not deserted him. “It’s wonderful, father.”
He grinned, seeming suddenly boyish. “My old hands haven’t forgotten their skills, eh?” He gestured for her to take a seat. “I’m glad you came, Falen. I owe you an apology. I should not have tried to force you to marry Malwyn Sigard. His father and I hoped the two of you would develop an affection for each other. Alas, that has obviously not happened. I’m sure you’ll find the right man one day, Falen. And until such a time I promise not to pressure you.”
Falen opened her mouth and closed it again.
Her father laughed. “Don’t look so surprised! I can admit I’m wrong occasionally you know.”
“I, er…I… Thank you, father.”
He glanced at the window. “The weather seems to have improved. If it’s a nice day tomorrow, how do you fancy going riding with me? Starfall has been getting restless of late and I’m sure Yrsa could do with a run.”
Falen grinned “I’d love to, father. The southern meadows should be full of bluebells about now. I’d love to see them.”
“It’s agreed then. I’ll get the servants to pack a picnic and we’ll make a day of it.”
Falen nodded, suddenly unable to speak. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been riding with her father. A tiny flicker of hope unfolded in Falen’s chest like a flower. Was it possible? Had her father come back to her?
He began carving once more. “Did you want to talk to me about something, Falen?”
Falen hesitated. Everything she wanted to say suddenly lodged in her throat. She had come to warn her father about Nashir but without the monk’s intervention her father might still be suffocating in grief. The monk had given her father back to her, had given Variss back their king. So was it right for her to sow seeds of suspicion in the king’s mind? 
But she remembered the threat behind Nashir’s words the other day. How could she let her father become his puppet?
“Father, I’m afraid I have to say some things you might not want to hear.”
His gray eyes flicked up to meet hers. “Go on.”
“It’s about the new high priest.”
“Nashir? What of him?”
She chewed her lip then leaned towards her father. “I don’t trust him. And I don’t think you should either. He’s not what he seems.”
He frowned. “What makes you say that? You were the one who brought him here after all.”
“I know, but I think it was a plan to get close to us. To you.”
Her father set down his whittling knife and faced her. “For what purpose, Falen? The high priest has shown both yourself and me only kindness. What evidence do you have of any dishonesty?”
Falen took a piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to her father. 
He scanned the writing. “What’s this?”
“A list of the books Nashir loaned from the library. Most of them are maps and old routes into the mountains. I found him in the mountains, remember. He’d been washed down from Black Seza, a place where no sane man would go. Why was he up there? He had no supplies, no equipment. I think he’s searching for something in the Sisters. He says he came to Variss weeks ago, but there is no record of him entering the city.”
“There are thousands of people entering and leaving Variss every day. Perhaps he was missed.”
“Possibly. But that’s not the only thing. I’ve been digging around to try and find information about his background. There is no record of his order in Esclede. Doesn’t that strike you as strange?”
The king nodded. “Very strange.” He clasped Falen’s hands. “Thank you for bringing this to me, Falen. What you’ve told me is very important.”
Falen sighed. Relief washed through her body. She had been right to bring her concerns to her father. 
The king released her hands and leaned back in his chair. “You were right, Nashir!”
The door to an inner chamber opened and Nashir strode into the room. Falen’s heart thumped. No doubt he had heard every word. 
She stared at the king incredulously. “Father?” 
He didn’t answer. 
Nashir strode across the room, his face somber. He came to a halt three paces from where Falen sat and looked her over. 
“I had hoped I was wrong, sire. I’m sorry.”
“She’s denounced you, Nashir, just like you said she would. She’s spoken words against the Lords of Life. We must help her.”
“What are you talking about?” Falen cried in a panicked voice.  “Send this man away, father! I wish to speak to you alone!”
“Why?” asked Nashir. “So you can whisper more lies in your father’s ear?”
“They are not lies! Who are you, Nashir? Why are you really here in Variss?”
“I’ve told you,” he said patiently. “I’m here to serve the Lords of Life. And to serve Variss.”
“You’re lying. You’ve been lying from the start. What are you looking for in the mountains?”
Nashir shook his head sadly. “Each word you utter condemns you further.”
“Answer me! What do you want, Nashir? How have you managed to trick my father?”
Nashir turned to the king. “Do you see, sire?”
“I see.” The king fixed his gaze on Falen. “Daughter, I must hear it from your own lips. Do you accept the Lords of Life?”
Falen stared at him, aghast. “Listen to yourself, father! A few weeks ago, you followed The Great Warrior. What of Him? Have you abandoned all your beliefs for this man you barely know?”
“Nashir has shown me the error of my ways. I ask again: do you follow the Lords of Life?”
“No I don’t!” she exploded, anger and fear making her voice shrill. “There is no such thing as these Lords of Life! This man has tricked you!”
The king rose from his seat and stood with his hands resting on the table. Falen stared at him defiantly. 
When he spoke, his voice was deadly calm. “Know this, daughter. I have pledged myself, and my kingdom, to the Lords of Life. For Variss to thrive, my heir must do the same. You must embrace my gods. Welcome Them into your heart and you will know the joy I’ve found. Together we’ll lead Variss into a golden age.” 
Falen didn’t like the strange light shining in his eyes. It looked too much like madness.
She shook her head. “I won’t. Worship these new gods if you want, father, but I’ll have no part of it.”
The king stared at her and Falen met his gaze, refusing to look away. Look at me, father! Look at me and remember everything you once were! I’m your daughter. Remember! 
For a moment, her father seemed to waver and his hand twitched where it rested on the table as if he would reach out to her. Then he closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them again, he turned to Nashir. 
“Can you guide her into the light, high priest?”
The old man bowed. “Of course, sire. The Lords of Life welcome all souls.” 
Nashir took a step towards Falen. She held out a hand to stop him. “Don’t come any closer.”
The monk smiled. The same easy smile he had used on Falen before, the one designed to show he was a friend. “I’m not going to harm you, Princess. Your father and I merely wish to take away your pain. Allow me to give you the blessing of the Lords of Life and you’ll feel the joy that could be yours. You will join us.”
She stood, sending her chair crashing to the floor and backed away. “Stay away from me.”
“All you had to do was support me,” Nashir hissed. “All you had to do was say a few words, sign a few documents and all would have been well. But you couldn’t do that, could you? You had to go snooping around, sticking your nose into my business. You’ve brought this on yourself, Princess.”
Nashir darted forward and grabbed her wrist. “Now embrace my gods!”
Something like a shroud enveloped Falen. Pressure closed in on all sides, an invisible coat pressing against her body. In her mind’s eye she had the impression of vast, unlit halls. Of caverns of ice and ancient creatures in eternal slumber. She saw icy steppes bathed in moonlight and ancient cities crumbling under the weight of snow.
“You must embrace Them,” Nashir’s voice said by her ear. “Open your heart to Their power.”
“No!” she screamed, ripping her hand from Nashir’s.
Nashir’s face was pale and sweaty. He shook his head. “Her heart is closed, sire. She cannot be saved.”
As Falen watched, emotion drained from the king’s face, to be replaced by that cold, expressionless mask she so hated. It seemed as though he was withdrawing from her, building a vast chasm between them. 
“One final chance, Falen. Will you worship the Lords of Life?”
“I won’t, father.”
“Then you leave me no choice. Falen Godwinsson, you are hereby stripped of all title and banished from Variss. You have two hours to leave the city.”
Something cold settled into Falen’s bones. Her heart stuttered wildly. “Father? You can’t mean… you can’t…”
“Your king has spoken. Will you add treason to your list of crimes?” 
Falen struggled to speak. Her thoughts slipped away like oil. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. “But…but…I’m your daughter! You can’t do this!” 
“It’s already done. I tried to save you. I can’t have an heir at odds with me, Falen. If you reject my gods, you reject me as well. Now leave.”
His voice sounded cold, so cold. Falen looked from her father to Nashir, and back to her father. There was a distance in her father’s eyes she’d never seen before. 
She turned and strode from the chamber. Her father didn’t even look at her as she left.

***

“Are you sure you’ve got everything you need?” Lidda asked for what must have been the fifteenth time. 
Falen placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder, stopped her from fussing with Yrsa’s saddlebags. Lidda straightened and Falen could see the tears tracking their way down her face. 
“Come with me, Lidda.”
The old woman met her gaze for a moment then shook her head. “This is my home. Variss is all I’ve ever known. I’m too old to start over.”
“I’ll miss you.”
Lidda cupped Falen’s face in her hands. “You won’t have time to miss me. You’ll be back in no time, you mark my words. The king will come to his senses and send for you, begging your forgiveness in the process.”
Falen smiled at Lidda’s words but she didn’t hold out much hope. In her pocket she grasped the scroll from Ral Tora. It was the gateway to her future. But it also marked the end of her old life. If she hadn’t been so blinded by her obsession with the academy could she have saved her father? Guilt sat like an iron ball in her stomach.
“You warned me, Lidda. You warned me to be careful what I wished for. I should have listened to you.”
Lidda shook her head. “I never meant this. It’s not your fault. Now, you know where you’re going when you get there? You’ve the name of who to report to? You know where you’re staying? Right. Promise me you’ll be careful. I’ve heard those folk down in Ral Tora are mighty strange.”
Falen smiled wryly. “Then I should fit right in.”
“Time to be going, Princess,” said Captain Yorgesson as he held Yrsa’s reins.
Falen glanced at the sky. It was late afternoon. She had a few hours of daylight left, enough to see her south of Ragnar’s Gap. Captain Yorgesson finished adjusting Yrsa’s stirrups and came to stand in front of her. He stared at the ground, looking uncomfortable.
“Everything ready, captain?”
He glanced up. “Everything ready. Don’t stay away too long, eh?” 
“I’ll try not to.”
He smiled, but it was a sad smile. She threw her arms around him. He went rigid with shock but then squeezed her close. When he finally let go, she stepped back and looked at the two people in front of her. She was going to miss them terribly. 
“Look after my father,” she said. “He’s going to need you more than ever.”
They nodded and Falen swung into the saddle. She took one last look at the towering spires of Variss, at the snow-capped mountains and at the faces of her friends. Tears threatened to choke her. 
With a wave, she kicked Yrsa into a trot and took the first steps on her long journey south. 



Everwinter Chapter  1


Bramwell Tully was not, and had never been, a religious man. But now, as he hung a hundred meters from the ground, he was beginning to reassess that stance. Squeezing his eyes shut, he sent a prayer to any god, goddess, demi-god or friendly spirit that might be listening. 
Just let me survive. Let me get down in one piece and I promise I’ll never do anything this stupid again. Please!
Above him, the spire of Red Storm Tower soared into the gray sky. Clouds had gathered, banked up like rearing beasts, ready to throw their anger at anyone stupid enough to enter their domain. A freezing wind was blowing down out of the north, howling around the tower and lifting the ends of Bram’s sweat-sodden hair. He was clinging onto the metal ladder so tightly his fingers were cramping. His nose, lips and ears felt like frozen slabs of meat. To top it all, he’d strapped his pack on too tightly and now it was digging into the skin beneath his armpits. 
All in all, Bram wished he was somewhere else. 
The wind dropped and Bram seized his chance to squint upwards. The tower’s pinnacle rose only a few meters above him but it could have been a hundred miles away. 
If only he’d kept his mouth shut! If his stupid pride hadn’t goaded him, he’d be safely on the ground right now. It was always the same with him — his mouth always ten seconds ahead of his brain. This morning, when Chief Engineer Rassus had asked for a volunteer to repair Old Rosella, why had he raised his hand? He should have stared at the ground and pretended he hadn’t heard like Romy had.
Fool! Think before you open your mouth! You’re an engineer, not a steeplejack!
He snapped his eyes closed as strands of his sandy-colored hair whipped into them. Shaking his head, he tried to clear the clinging threads from his face and as he did so, his weight shifted minutely on the ladder. He grunted as the safety harness bit into his thigh. The harness was attached to a safety line that promised if Bram should fall it would save him from a spectacular and messy death. Like his pack, Bram had fastened the harness too tightly, and now he could barely breathe. 
Still, better too tight than not tight enough, he told himself as the wind buffeted him again.  
He pulled in a deep breath. Time to get this over with. He uncurled his hand, reached for the next rung and pulled himself up. His world shrank to a pinprick; only the ladder and his next hand-hold mattered. Nothing else.
Despite the freezing temperature, sweat beaded on Bram’s forehead and dripped into his eyes, making his vision blur. He lifted his left foot and settled his boot on the next rung. He felt the grips on his boots catch on the metal for a second – then go sliding out from under him. 
Desperately he threw up his left arm, trying to find a handhold, but the icy metal refused to give him purchase. His gloves slid uselessly against it, the weight of his body ripping his hands from the ladder.
With a strangled cry, Bram fell.  
All thought fled as panic sent adrenaline surging through his body. His heart hammered. Blood roared in his ears. Then, with a grunt, the breath was punched from his lungs as the safety harness jerked him to a halt. He’d only fallen about two feet.  
Bram hung there, winded, desperately trying to pull in a breath. Little dots of silver light danced in front of his eyes. Above him, the safety line hummed in the wind. Unbidden, Bram’s eyes swiveled downwards and he caught a glimpse of the patchwork of Ral Tora’s streets, far, far, below. 
Gorge rose in Bram’s throat. Waves of dizziness swamped him. He closed his eyes and sucked in deep breaths. He forced himself to reach out with his left hand until he felt the solidity of the ladder beneath his fingers. Grunting with effort, he heaved himself over to the ladder, and grabbed it tightly. His boots scrabbled against the rungs, and eventually found purchase. Bram pressed his forehead to the cold metal, allowing the fear to leak out of him like water from a burst skin. It felt as though his thudding heart would shatter his ribs.
You’re all right. You didn’t fall. You’re okay, he told himself.
The wind howled, sounding like cruel laughter in Bram’s ears. 
You are not up to this job, the wind whispered. Go back to the menial tasks you can cope with. Only real engineers should be up here. 
Bram almost gave in. You can’t do this, he told himself. Go down, before you kill yourself. But then a louder voice answered, what, and prove you can’t cut it as an engineer? That you should still be an apprentice? 
Sudden anger flared in Bram’s chest. 
I will not give up!
Gritting his teeth, he narrowed his eyes at the ledge he was aiming for, took his foot from the ladder, and climbed. 
One rung.   
Two rungs. 
Three rungs. 
Four. 
At last, Bram scrambled onto the ledge and lay on his back, gasping. Triumph surged through him. He’d done it!
He rolled onto his front, lifted himself to his hands and knees and looked around. In front of him, the pointed top of Red Storm Tower rose up, a narrow spire that ended in a weather vane shaped like a cockerel. 
Several tiles had slipped from the roof, leaving gaps through which Bram could see Old Rosella, the great bell, hanging in the chamber below. If she hadn’t commanded such affection from the citizens of Ral Tora, Bram doubted that Chief Engineer Rassus would have spared the labor to conduct repairs. These days the engineers had little time to spare for such things. 
But Old Rosella was one of Ral Tora’s oldest landmarks, and people measured their day by her hourly peals. When she had failed to chime this morning, the Chief Engineer had wasted no time in sending someone to investigate. But while the bell chamber itself was accessible from inside the tower, the roof above it was too narrow and could only be reached from the horrible metal ladder on the outside of the spire. 
Bram recognized the problem with Old Rosella immediately. The hole in the roof had been letting in snow. This must have seized up the mechanism that controlled Old Rosella’s striking hammer. 
For a minute, Bram allowed himself the luxury of sitting with his eyes closed, waiting for his breathing to slow then shrugged the pack of tools from his shoulders and took out what he needed. Luckily for Bram, none of the tiles had fallen from the roof and smashed on the street below. This meant that instead of replacing them, he could re-position them and then nail them into place. He worked as quickly as he could, before his hands became too cold to use the hammer. He did his best to ignore the wind that ripped at him, trying to pull him from his precarious perch. 
At last, Bram finished the repairs. He re-packed the tools and slung the pack over his shoulder. The wind dropped and the clouds broke to let through the midday sun. The effect was startling. The dull, lifeless day suddenly came alive with beauty. Ice glistened on the roofs of Ral Tora, glittering like thousands of tiny crystals. 
Holding the safety line, Bram edged forward and looked out over Ral Tora. The view took Bram’s breath away. The city lay spread out below like a giant’s map. In the far distance Bram could see the curtain wall that protected the city, and the twelve watchtowers rising up in regular intervals along it, almost as tall as Red Storm Tower itself. They were a testament to the building skill of the ancient engineers who had founded Ral Tora over three thousand years ago. Despite the turning of time, much of the ancient city had survived, a legacy that today’s engineers did their best to uphold.  
Directly below Bram’s perch, the four quarters of the city fanned out in perfect symmetry around Red Storm Tower’s central courtyard. It reminded Bram of a wheel, with Red Storm Tower as the hub and the streets radiating outwards like spokes. The great aqueduct sliced the city in half from east to west. Its massive arches had become as much a symbol of Ral Tora as Old Rosella.
Home.
An immense feeling of pride swelled in Bram’s chest. This was Ral Tora, the greatest place in the world. 
He gathered his thoughts. Tugging on the safety line to check it was secure, Bram turned around and lowered his foot onto the first rung of the ladder and began his descent. Although Bram wouldn’t have thought it possible, going down was worse than going up. The footholds were treacherous and threatened to send him tumbling whenever he put his weight on them. He focused on one rung at a time. 
Concentrate! He told himself. And don’t look down!
Agonizingly slowly, Bram crawled downwards. Each time he moved he had to pause and make sure his grip was secure before moving on. Memories of the fall were fresh in his mind, fogging him with fear. 
The spire gradually widened as Bram descended, blocking his view of the sky, for which Bram felt profoundly grateful. Fatigue turned his thinking fuzzy and even the simplest of thoughts had to fight through the haze. He didn’t realize he’d reached the base of the spire until a large door loomed into his line of sight. A stone platform jutted from the wall, and Bram gratefully took his feet from the ladder and placed them on the ledge’s smooth surface. He pushed his way through the door and lay panting on the landing inside. The smell of old wood replaced the cold, icy odor of the wind. 
Bram’s eyes slid closed. Safe. He’d done it. He’d reached the bell chamber, and the great bell, Old Rosella, hung above him. With the roof fixed, he just had to free the mechanism and then he could get back to the ground. He unclipped himself from the safety harness and with cloths, brushes and oil, set about cleaning the cogs and springs that controlled the bell’s striking apparatus. Finally, he greased the whole thing so the icy air wouldn’t cause the machinery to freeze. 
With a sigh of relief, Bram repacked his tools and slung the pack onto his back. A hefty staircase with a strong, re-assuring banister spiraled around the inside of the tower. As Bram began walking down the stairs, legs still wobbly, the creak and groan of settling beams and the smell of pigeons helped to steady the beating of his heart. 
A voice suddenly echoed from somewhere below. “Hoi! Bram! What took you so long?”
The tower’s entry chamber lay below him. Bram saw a familiar figure standing there.
Bram smiled. “Don’t even ask, Romy. Next time I volunteer for this, will you please give me a whack on the head?”
Romy barked a laugh and then rushed to take Bram’s pack as he staggered to the bottom of the stairs. Bram sat down abruptly on the smooth flagstone floor. 
Romy leant over him. “You all right? You look a bit pale.”
Bram waved his friend’s words away. He needed to gather himself. 
Before he even had time to catch his breath though, another voice spoke. “Engineer Tully, report!”
Chief Engineer Rassus stood in the doorway, hands planted on his hips. He was a big bear of a man with bushy eyebrows and a glare that would melt lead. 
“Well?” he demanded, “Did you complete the repairs?”
“Yes, sir,” Bram replied. “I found a hole in the roof and the mechanism had seized. It should be fine now.”
“Then why hasn’t Old Rosella chimed this hour?”
Bram opened his mouth and closed it again. He’d been so focused on his descent that he hadn’t been listening for the bell’s chimes.
Oh no! he thought. Don’t make me go back up there!
A loud peal suddenly rang out. The clonking cacophony was so familiar to the citizens of Ral Tora it felt like welcoming back an old friend. As the last strains died into silence, Bram closed his eyes in relief. 
Rassus glanced at the tower and back to Bram. 
Eventually he said, “Good work,” and strode off without a backward glance.
Romy blew out a breath. “What a day for surprises! A climb that would have the best of us soiling our breeches, then a compliment from Rassus. This must be your lucky day, Bram!” 
Bram raised an eyebrow but didn’t deign to reply to his friend’s sarcasm. Romy’s yellow hair was matted with grime, his face a patchwork of mud and soil. 
“What happened to you?” Bram asked, “You look like a street urchin who’s been scrapping in the dirt.”
“Charming! I trudge all the way across town to see how you’re doing — without even stopping to have a bath — and all I get is insults!” His face broke into a grin. “Truth is, I’ve been at the north wall all day. Again.”
“How’s the work going?” Bram asked, kneeling to tie his bootlace.
“It’s the last section of tunnels that’s giving us the trouble,” Romy shrugged.  “I suppose when they built the wall they didn’t think that one day we might need to lay pipes underneath. Rassus has given me the honor of overseeing one of the digging teams. Gods, those boys can moan! Three times they had me in the tunnels, checking the measurements. Three bloody times! They reckoned the wall was going to collapse. Of course, it wasn’t. I’ve never met such a superstitious bunch of old women in my life!”
“I’ll swap you, then,” said Bram, straightening. “Next time Old Rosella needs repairs you can go up, and I’ll look after your digging team. What do you say?”
Romy craned his head back and looked up at Red Storm Tower. “No chance.” 
Bram laughed and the two of them moved out of the tower, locked the door behind them and headed off towards the center of town. They turned left at the end of the street and found themselves on a wide, busy thoroughfare. People scurried back and forth, heads bent against the blustery weather. Wind-blasted olive and fig trees lined the street, black and shrunken. 
Eventually, the street opened out into a large park with a cluster of buildings sitting in the middle. The once-grand lawns had turned to a muddy brown mess, with a few evergreen shrubs clinging to life here and there. Lamps gleamed in the windows of the buildings, battling the already fading light.
A sign by the gates read: 
University of Ral Tora, Faculty of Astronomy 
Charter granted by Great Father Toran, year 299.
The two friends skirted the length of the university precinct and entered a large square. A fountain shaped like a rearing horse dominated the center. In better days, people had sat round the square, enjoying the warm southern climate and chatting to friends. But now the water in the basin was frozen and there was no warmth to enjoy. 
Nevertheless, a large group of people were gathered round the fountain, staring avidly at a man who had climbed onto the rim and was bellowing animatedly. The man had a livid white scar running down his forehead and through one eye. He’d smeared soot around his eyes, giving his face a deathly, skull-like pallor.
Romy whistled under his breath. “Great. It looks as though we’ve walked into the middle of a Wailer meeting. Shall we go the other way?”
Bram shook his head. “It’ll take ages. If we keep our heads down they shouldn’t bother us.”
They pulled their collars up and scurried around the outside of the square, heads bowed. As they drew nearer, Bram could hear the man’s words. 
“Listen! The Mighty Ones are coming! Already we feel their power! In our pride we have forgotten the old gods and they are punishing us. If we do not repent they will send us all to Hell!”
Bram tried not to listen. The man was talking nonsense, just like the City Fathers said. There must be a perfectly rational explanation for this unseasonal weather. Old gods had nothing to do with it. 
“There!” 
Bram looked up to find the man’s eyes fixed on Romy and himself. He was pointing a bony finger at them, a triumphant expression on his face.
“There! Two of the blasphemers! Two of those who ignore the will of the old gods and defile their names!”
The crowd turned towards the two engineers. An angry murmur broke out.
Bram glanced at Romy. His friend’s face had gone pale. 
“Let’s get out of here,” Bram whispered. 
They turned on their heels and strode back the way they’d come. The crowd shifted restlessly but made no move to stop them. 
Once out of the square Bram wiped his brow. “That was close. That crowd was beginning to get ugly.”
Romy snorted contemptuously. “Who do they think they are? They have no right to intimidate people, as though they own the damn city. It’s about time the City Fathers did something about those scare-mongering lunatics.”
Bram nodded his agreement and the two of them made their escape down Merchant’s Way, a roundabout route that would take them twice as long. 
At last, they turned into White Road, and reached their destination. The headquarters of The Honorable Guild of City Engineers was a three-story building made of good Ral Toran brick. It had a high, gabled roof, and a large red door leading straight out into the street. 
“I don’t know what you are looking so relieved about,” Romy said, “I bet Rassus is waiting for you in his office, wanting a full report.”
Bram groaned. “You’re right. No doubt he will find something he can shout at me for.”
Romy looked sympathetic. “Tell you what; let’s get a few of the lads together later. I might even stretch to a jug of wine or two.”
Bram clapped Romy on the shoulder. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Grinning, they made their way into the guild house.



About the Author

Thank you for reading Summer Storm! If you liked the book, please consider leaving a review.

Elizabeth Baxter was born and raised in England. In her spare time she enjoys reading, hiking, traveling the world and watching England play cricket. She’s been writing since she was six years old and plans to continue for as long as she’s able to hold a pen (or a keyboard). If you are interested in more information about the author and forthcoming books, visit her at:

Website/blog: http://elizabethbaxter.blogspot.com
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