The Darkson nodded. ‘He’s ready.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Or as ready as he can be. This kind of training usually requires months.’
The pale woman turned to him. ‘Davarus Cole, it is time for you to fulfil your destiny. A ship has been prepared to sail you around the coast to Deadman’s Channel. The Darkson, Lady Brianna, and several of my sisters are to accompany you. You will seek out Brodar Kayne and reclaim Magebane.’
‘How?’ asked Cole. ‘He could be anywhere by now.’
‘Some manner of disaster befell the mine at the Wailing Rift,’ the woman replied. ‘If the Highlander perished there, Brianna will help you locate and recover the weapon. If this Brodar Kayne still lives, we will hunt him down.’
‘It is imperative that you recover your birthright,’ the assassin explained. ‘Thelassa cannot liberate the Grey City while the Tyrant of Dorminia draws breath. The longer we delay the greater the threat posed by Salazar becomes. Only the unique power of Magebane can get you close enough to kill him.’
‘What should I do once I have it in my possession?’ The thought of going up against Salazar was thrilling, but Cole couldn’t shake the feeling there was something he wasn’t being told.
‘Brianna will send a message back to Thelassa. Our army will then attack from the west and draw Dorminia’s defenders. You will infiltrate the Obelisk during the chaos and do what you have been trained to do.’
Cole thought about this for a moment. ‘What will happen to Dorminia and her people after Salazar’s gone?’
‘You will be free,’ the pale woman replied. ‘Of course, Thelassa will demand certain concessions in return, such as sole ownership of the Celestial Isles. That is fair, is it not?’
Cole nodded. ‘I guess so,’ he said. ‘I would like to take Three-Finger with me.’
‘You mean the rapist?’
‘He’s not a rapist. Three-Finger’s a bit coarse sometimes, but he has a heart of gold. Besides,’ he added, ‘he’s my henchman.’
The pale woman’s expression was, as always, unreadable. ‘I will communicate your wish to the White Lady. In the meantime, I must insist that you wear this while you are escorted from here.’ She reached down under her white robes and produced a collar.
Cole grimaced. Being a hero was a much more complicated business than he had thought.
He stared again at the corpse of Kramer. A decent man, forced to do evil things by the bastard up at the Obelisk. I will avenge you, Kramer. You, my father, and everyone else who has suffered because of the Tyrant of Dorminia.
He looked at the bloody dagger in his hand.
I really am very sorry about that.
Duty Calls
Malbrec was located fifteen miles north of Dorminia. It straddled a trade route that wound up through the Demonfire Hills to continue on through to Ashfall at the very northern edge of Salazar’s territory, where the Trine ended and the bandit-infested Badlands began.
A mining town, Malbrec supplied much of the granite used in the construction of Dorminia’s many buildings. It also provided a lucrative source of income for the Grey City; Dorminia’s incumbent Chancellor had set a high tax on the town’s exports in return for its advantageous location and the protection the local Crimson Watch garrison offered from the roving abominations and bandits that haunted the region.
Barandas had been in Malbrec for only a few hours and already he wished he was back in Dorminia. His presence in the town had nothing to do with trade and everything to do with the rather grimmer business of conscription. Thelassa’s mercenary army would soon cross the narrow stretch of sea dividing the two cities, and Dorminia would need every man it could muster to defend it. As a vassal of the Grey City, Malbrec had a moral and legal obligation to provide soldiers in times of conflict. It was up to Barandas to take the raw material of the town’s young men and beat them into something worthwhile.
That was all very well, except that the young men of Malbrec showed scant enthusiasm for fulfilling their obligations.
Barandas frowned at the tear-streaked face of the woman before him. Her two sons loitered slightly behind her, examining the ground with mixed expressions of fear and shame. The elder sibling looked to be near twenty, the younger perhaps seventeen. Old enough to fight, Barandas judged, and didn’t he himself have the scars to prove it?
‘Their father perished down in the mines. Left me a widow, not a copper to my name,’ the woman was