The wide sky above Tarras was ablaze. Dusk settled over the sprawling town; staining the parched hills and the pitted sandstone buildings gold. It was a warm autumn evening and the air was rich with the scent of baked earth and wild thyme.
On the outskirts of town, in the shade of a stand of spindly pines, Riadamor waited.
It was a peaceful spot, and the chorus of chirping cicadas kept Riadamor company. Few disturbed her here, for she hid far from where the menfolk of Tarras mined for gold. The only item of note was a small, crumbling well, surrounded by a carpet of pine needles. The well was the only source of water for quite some distance. As such, it had been the perfect position to lie in wait.
Riadamor knew that, eventually, the girl would come.
She sat in a shaded spot, behind one of the taller pines, and listened to the muted sounds of the world readying itself for night. The fiery sky was starting to fade as the sun slipped beyond the western horizon.
Barely three moon cycles had passed since Riadamor had left Deep-Spire behind, and she had spent most of that time in hiding. If Lady Serina had sent Sentorân out after her, she had not seen any.
Lady Serina had under-estimated Riadamor – the Spire Cage had not been able to hold her for long.
On her third night in the cage, only a few hours after Belythna had visited her and tried to convince her to beg forgiveness, Riadamor had managed to penetrate the ward that had been placed between the cage and the winch. Then, inch by inch, she had used her talent to lower the cage onto the platform. After that, she had focused on bending the iron bars – a task which left her panting with exhaustion on the floor of her cage. However, at last, she had managed to open them just enough for her to squeeze through.
While the rest of Deep-Spire slumbered, she had slipped through darkened hallways and down empty stairwells till she reached the fortress’s gates.
Here, she had killed both Sentorân guards and let herself out into the moonless night. She had never killed before, but slaying those guards had been easy, thrillingly so. She had crept up behind them as they stood, shoulder to shoulder outside the gatehouse, conversing in low voices. They had never even realised she was there until it was too late. Her talent wrapped itself like an iron band around their windpipes, cutting off their screams. They had fallen, thrashing, to the ground and died moments later.
With Deep-Spire behind her, Riadamor had journeyed north-west, through wide, arid plains. It was exposed terrain, and searing hot. For that reason, it was the last place Lady Serina would search for her. She was far more likely to send search parties out for her to Barrowthorne to the south-west or the Forest of Shadow to the north-east, where there were villages and places to hide.
Riadamor had never been one to choose the obvious.
The journey had almost killed her. She had arrived on the outskirts of Tarras, exhausted, starving and dehydrated. It was only a late summer rain-storm that had saved her from perishing out there on the endless, sun-scorched plain.
At Tarras, she had become a ghost; stealing and hunting to stay alive. Then, she had discovered the old well, and had made her home amongst the pines. And all the while, she thought upon her future.
Revenge was not enough. She would have her reckoning with Lady Serina one day, but she needed more than that in order to go on.
Belythna had spoken true, Riadamor had planned to one day lead the Sentorân, to bring them out of obscurity and to their rightful place as rulers of Palâdnith. She had not planned on losing her temper that morning in the Council Chamber – yet her earlier confrontation with Lord Chatis had freed something within her, something wild and dangerous. With every day that passed afterwards, her need to express herself grew. That council had been the catalyst.
None of them understood me – only my father knew who I really was, Riadamor reflected as she stared up at the darkening sky.
Indeed, the Lord of Starne Island had been only too happy to rid himself of her. Riadamor had been a wilful child, and with the arrival of adolescence, she became impossible to control. She often flew into a rage; and when she did she was perilous company. Once, she had made a vase fly across the room and smash to pieces against her governess’s head, after the woman berated her for being rude. The governess had lain unconscious for days afterwards, and had fled Fort Stealth soon after. Riadamor’s father had tried to find a suitable husband for her; she was very young, but there were plenty of men who preferred brides her age. After she sent her tenth suitor away missing two fingers – when the man tried to fondle her at dinner – her father lost patience with her.
I was never meant to follow others, to toady and cower, Riadamor got to her feet and dusted pine needles off her robes. I was born to rule – and, one day, that’s what I will do.
At that moment, she spied a slight, dark-haired figure, dressed in a ragged, homespun shift, make its way through the trees towards the well.
Riadamor’s mouth curved into a smile. The girl had come.
She waited until the girl – barely thirteen winters by the look of her, and far too thin – had reached the well and was lowering a wooden pail down into it. Then, Riadamor emerged from her hiding place behind the large pine and slowly walked towards her.
“Good evening.”
The girl started and whipped round towards the voice. Her green eyes were huge on her thin face. Riadamor noted that that she had fading bruises on her face and neck. The hands holding the rope were trembling with fright.
“H…hello,” the girl stammered, her gaze travelling over the stranger before her. Riadamor knew her appearance was not intimidating. She had rid herself of her black robes, and golden neck circlet and stolen some plain grey robes from a passing merchant. She looked like a farmer’s daughter, certainly no one to be wary of.
“I’m sorry if I gave you a fright,” Riadamor smiled gently. “I was hoping to see you here.”
The girl’s eyes grew wider still.
“You were waiting for me?” She let go of the rope, not caring as the bucket dropped into the well. The pail clattered against the stone walls before landing at the bottom with a splash.
“Yes, but do not be afraid. I mean you no harm.”
The girl blinked rapidly, her eyes filling with tears. She backed away from the well. “What do you want with me?”
“I wish to offer you a new life,” Riadamor replied, lowering her voice as if she were coaxing a frightened animal. “I see the fear and pain in your eyes. Does your father beat you?”
The girl shook her head, her gaze never leaving Riadamor’s face. “My parents died when I was a babe. A miner and his wife took me in.”
“They mistreat you, don’t they?”
The girl nodded, tears slowly trickling down her thin face.
“Tell me of it,” Riadamor coaxed.
The girl backed further away, suddenly skittish. “Why do you want to know?”
“I can help you,” Riadamor replied, “but only if you talk to me.”
“They were childless at first,” the girl began tremulously, “but after the miner’s wife bore her husband three babes, they no longer had any time for me. I became their servant. They feed me enough to keep me alive, and no more. The wife beats me whenever I am slow, or clumsy.” The girl broke off here, her sticklike arms hugging her torso. “He… the miner… he comes to me at night.” Her face crumpled. “He hurts me, he uses me.”
Riadamor nodded, feeling outrage kindle in her belly as she continued to gaze upon the waif before her. “I can make him pay for that,” she replied, her voice barely above a murmur. “I can make you strong. I can ensure no one ever hurts you again.”
The girl stared at her. “You can?”
“I am a sorceress,” Riadamor explained, “the most powerful alive. I can punish those who have hurt you.”
The girl continued to watch her. However, Riadamor noticed that she was no longer crying. Instead, her green eyes grew bright and sharp. Her heart-shaped face creased in thought as she contemplate
d Riadamor’s offer.
“You can?”
Riadamor’s smiled, before nodding.
The girl held her gaze for a moment longer. “I will never have to go back there?”
“Never.”
A tremulous smile spread across the girl’s face then, transforming her from an emaciated waif to a rare beauty.
What’s your name?” Riadamor asked her.
“Marin.”
“I am Riadamor,” she took a few steps forward and held out her hand.
Marin reached out and took the hand that Riadamor offered. The girl’s hand was fragile; her fingers ice-cold. However, her eyes were shining.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “You’re my saviour.”
Staring down at the young woman’s face, Riadamor was aware, for the first time in her life, of the power of loyalty. It was an allegiance that you could not buy, borrow or steal – it had to be given freely.
“Come,” Riadamor led Marin away from the well. “Night falls and the miner and his wife will soon expect you back. It is time we paid them a visit.”
Chapter Six
Darkness
Lake Darkness, Central Omagen