The City of Night Neverending Read online

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  CHAPTER ONE: A LONE MAN

  CHAPTER TWO: A CROSSBOW BOLT TO THE CHEST

  CHAPTER THREE: A FAMILIAR AND FRIENDLY FACE

  CHAPTER FOUR: A QUESTION, UNCOMFORTABLE AND RESTLESS

  CHAPTER FIVE: AN EVEN DARKER SHADE OF RED

  CHAPTER SIX: A JOB TO DO

  CHAPTER SEVEN: A WILD PANIC

  CHAPTER EIGHT: A MAN ON THE EDGE OF A CLIFF

  CHAPTER NINE: A SLUMBERING BEAST

  CHAPTER TEN: A RUMBLING STORM

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: A CURIOUS AND UNSETTLING SIGHT

  CHAPTER TWELVE: A HUNDRED MILLION KNIVES IN THE NIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN: A PARTING GIFT

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN: A HAPPY HOME

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN: A FAMILY HEIRLOOM

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN: A LEGACY TO INHERIT

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: A FIGURE NEITHER ANIMAL NOR MAN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: A PRIMAL VOICE

  CHAPTER NINETEEN: A SCRATCHING AT THE EDGE OF SANITY

  CHAPTER TWENTY: A CITY LONG DESTROYED

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: AN UNPITYING AGE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: A BLADE IN EACH HAND

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: A FADED MAJESTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: A BRIGHT AND BURNING REALITY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: A FIERY DAWN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: A STARTLING REVELATION

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: A PALE AND TWISTED THING

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: A FRIENDLY CONVERSATION

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: A GHOSTLY VISION

  CHAPTER THIRTY: AN EXECUTIONER DRESSED FOR DUTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: A THUNDERBOLT OUT OF A CLEAR BLUE SKY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: A DISTANT SHORE OF A PROMISED LAND

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: A SNOWFLAKE FALLING INTO A FIRE PIT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: A SLIGHT CHANGE OF PLAN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: AN UNCAGED MONSTER

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: A PURE JOY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN: A FINAL MEMORY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT: A RISING SHADOW

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE: A BLACK VORTEX

  CHAPTER FORTY: AN END TO THE DREAM OF DAHEED

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE: AN OPEN GRAVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO: A GOOD MAN, THROUGH AND THROUGH

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  COPYRIGHT PAGE

  CHAPTER ONE

  A LONE MAN

  THE attack came just before midnight. The pyrates swept so silently into the township of Crescent Cove that nobody saw them coming. Not until they burst through the crowd of revellers with weapons drawn, cutting a bloody path as they set the thatched cottages ablaze with their flamecannons. And, amid the screams of terror, a rough and terrible voice bellowed, ‘Grab everything you can! The Shadow God must have his tribute!’

  As fearsome as the words were, Joss had no time to consider them as he ran for the stables, whip in one hand and sword in the other. The Champion’s Blade was a ceremonial object, not meant for battle. But it would still carve through anyone looking to stop him. The whip was to make sure it didn’t come to that.

  Villagers fled all around him. They became a rapid river in their panic, pushing and pulling him in every direction. But with great effort he forced his way towards a small side street. He could see the stables at the other end, drenched in shadows and untouched by the chaos.

  It was only as he was nearing them that a figure sprang from the darkness. He was dressed the same as all his comrades: chainmail made of crustacean shells, worn beneath a bronze chestplate stained green by salt water. His helmet was the same rusty hue, the faceplate evoking a creature from the deep with its bulging glass eyeholes and jagged mouthpiece. He gripped the handle of a long metal barrel, a large tank fastened to its casing, a flame flickering at its muzzle.

  ‘Drop your weapons!’ the pyrate growled from behind his visor as he squeezed the trigger. The night was lit up by a sizzling jet of fire. ‘Now!’

  Joss considered the flamecannon and the lone man wielding it. He looked back at the panicked villagers, at their burning homes. He turned again to the pyrate.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he said, and raised his sword.

  CHAPTER TWO

  A CROSSBOW BOLT TO THE CHEST

  Earlier …

  THE straw of the thatched roof crunched beneath Joss’s weight, pricking his palms as he shifted around, blinked the sleep from his eyes and shivered at the touch of the early morning wind that was blowing through Crescent Cove.

  It had only been a fortnight since he had returned from the Way with his Bladebound brethren, Drake and Hero, nervous at the prospect of being denied the rest of their training by the Grandmaster Council. But that hadn’t happened. Instead, their continued instruction had been approved, though not without some heavy deliberation. Grandmaster Eno had seemed particularly dour as he described what lay ahead for the aspiring prentices.

  ‘We’ll make arrangements with each of your individual orders to begin your training in earnest. Together you’ll learn the finer points of riding, mustering and song sword technique. Consider yourselves fortunate that you hail from such disparate regions, as it will give you a broader range of knowledge. If you’re wise you’ll stay silent, listen well and learn.’

  That last piece of advice had no doubt been aimed directly at Joss, given the way that Grandmaster Eno had stared at him as he delivered it. Still, Joss had been unable to resist asking further questions.

  ‘Which order shall be the first, my lord?’ he’d said, making sure to maintain an even and respectful tone. The last thing he wanted was to bait the old man, but his excitement to get started had simply been too much to contain.

  ‘Starlight Fields,’ Eno had replied, grinding his jaw on the answer, while Drake – standing at attention beside Joss – visibly straightened his posture. His pale face had been a mask of perfect composure, leaving Joss to speculate as to his friend’s feelings about returning home. ‘A season spent herding mammoths should serve as a solid introduction to all that’s expected of you.’

  The Grandmaster had gone on to explain the travel and accommodation arrangements that would be made for them, as well as to ask if they had anyone to appoint as their steward, a younger prentice who would assist them throughout their training. It was a largely thankless role, though it would stand the prentice in good stead when they eventually applied to go on the Way themselves, and Joss knew the perfect candidate. It seemed only right to put his name forward after all they’d been through, not just at Round Shield Ranch, but also in setting Joss on his path to becoming a paladero.

  Thankfully, Eno hadn’t outright rejected the suggestion, saying instead that it would be taken into consideration. Their audience at an end, the prentices had left the council to their business only to find Sur Verity waiting for them in the antechamber. Her face was twisted around her eyepatch in an expression that Joss had rarely seen in all the years he’d served as her prentice. Concern.

  ‘So?’ she’d prompted him.

  ‘We start with a season’s worth of training at Starlight Fields,’ Joss had replied, expecting her to be as gruff in her response as she’d been when Lord Malkus, the leader of their order, had put Joss forward as Round Shield Ranch’s nominee for the Way. Perhaps she’d be dismissive, lamenting how much more rigorous the training was back when the Bladebound would number a dozen or more and would be schooled by just as many paladeros. Most likely she would offer dire and cryptic warnings that would leave Joss feeling uncertain about himself and his chances at succeeding.

  But she did neither of these things. Instead, her concern only intensified.

&nbs
p; ‘Starlight Fields?’ she said. ‘That means you’ll be stopping at Crescent Cove before you cross the Silver Sea …’

  The name hit Joss like a crossbow bolt to the chest. ‘It does?’

  ‘Is that a problem?’ asked Hero, who had been characteristically silent until that point, her polarised goggles and mess of black hair rendering her as impossible to read as Drake had been. Joss could only stare at her, dumbstruck.

  ‘Crescent Cove is on the coast where Daheed was … where Daheed …’ Drake said, intervening on Joss’s behalf before he, too, found himself lost for words.

  Where Daheed was destroyed, Joss thought, the memory echoing in his head as he now sat on the roof of the inn where he had been staying with the others ever since their arrival in the tiny seaside town.

  The narrow buildings were stacked in rows that ran down rolling hills towards the waterfront, clumped together like rotted teeth. From his poky little room, Joss could only see the townhouse opposite and the street down below. But up here, perched on the rooftop, he could see so much more. He could see the sky. He could see the horizon. He could see where his island home had once sat in the middle of the Silver Sea. And he could see the empty space it had left behind.

  Haunted by its loss all his life, he felt utterly overwhelmed to now be directly faced with that absence. Especially as whatever grief he was feeling was tempered by the anticipation of beginning his training in earnest. The last survivor of Daheed. A prentice on his way to becoming a paladero. He was both these things, and now they were at war with each other. Should he be sad, or excited? Guilty, or nervous?

  Down on the street, labourers were pounding hammers and rasping saws and chattering away to each other as they finished the last-minute preparations for the annual Sea Spirit Festival. Children ran from one end of the road to the other, laughing and screaming in excitement as they trailed a green kite in the shape of a manta ray behind them. Its tail corkscrewed around in the breeze as it climbed and dived through the sky, leaping with boundless joy, passing Joss as he watched from the roof. He smiled at the sight, nudging as it did distant memories of a similarly carefree youth.

  As he rose to his feet, a gust of wind caught him off-balance. Reaching out to steady himself, he grabbed hold of a guy-wire that ran from the roof down to the street. Even with all his weight on it, the cable held firm.

  To the pits with all this gloom, he told himself. I’m a Bladebound prentice of Round Shield Ranch, mentored by Sur Verity Wolfsbane herself and on my way to becoming a paladero in my own right! Luck is muck. I make my own!

  Tightening his grip around the wire, a crazy notion overcame him. His favourite book as a child had been Azof & the Pyrate King, a Daheedi fable that he’d found tucked away in the library of the Orphan House where he’d grown up. Not only had it been an exciting story, which Joss had named his raptor after, but it had also helped to fill in some of the blanks in his memory about his lost homeland.

  But for all the book’s personal and cultural significance, Joss’s favourite part had always been when Azof – the humble cabin boy aboard a merchant vessel that was under attack from a pyrate crew – had zipped from his ship down onto the enemy’s deck via the marauders’ own grappling lines. So, deciding to prove true to his word and make his own luck, Joss unhooked his sword-belt, flung it over the wire, and acted out his hero’s defining moment.

  One small leap and he was airborne. The leather coat that he’d been allowed to keep after running the Gauntlet caught the wind, blowing out behind him like a pair of pterosaur wings. For a second, he relished the daring image he struck – until another blast of wind knocked him askew. He dropped from the wire halfway up, the ground rushing towards him, and landed painfully on a riveted manhole cover in the middle of the street.

  ‘Argh!’ he grunted, rolling off the manhole cover and onto his back. His thigh was throbbing so much that he couldn’t imagine trying to stand. Not even as the local kids ran back up the road, still trailing their kite, laughing at the sightseer from Thunder Realm who’d splatted like a seagull’s dropping in the middle of the street.

  ‘Just getting some fresh air,’ he told them as he forced himself up and dusted off his hands.

  ‘More like biting some fresh bitumen!’ the biggest kid chortled, his friends joining in as they ran off together.

  ‘Oh yeah? Come back here and say that to my face. I’d be happy to serve you up your own slice!’ Joss shouted after them, sword-belt flapping in his grip. But they were already gone. Frowning, he buckled the Champion’s Blade into place and started limping back to the inn. The sword’s weight had become so familiar by his side that he often forgot it was there, but there was no chance of that now as it smacked against his bruised leg with every step.

  Next time you decide to do something stupid like jump off a roof, he told himself as he trudged through the inn’s front door, don’t!

  CHAPTER THREE

  A FAMILIAR AND FRIENDLY FACE

  JOSS found his brethren in the dining room, enjoying their breakfast. Hero had taken the chair in the far corner with her back against the wall, her hair even more unkempt than usual at this early hour. Beside her sat Drake, bundled up in his thick winter coat despite the roaring fireplace next to him.

  ‘Joss!’ he called out, waving his hand in an invitation to join them. The gesture struck Joss as a little unnecessary given that the dining room was empty but for the three of them, though he appreciated it all the same.

  ‘How did you sleep?’ Drake asked through a mouthful of buttery flapjacks as Joss took the seat next to him, his leg throbbing.

  ‘Not well,’ Joss replied, then reached, wincing, for the large jug of fig juice in the middle of the table. ‘My brain wouldn’t quit its thinking.’

  Drake nodded. ‘Brains are stubborn that way.’

  ‘Our steward arrives today,’ Hero said, cutting straight to business.

  ‘I was planning on meeting him at the station,’ replied Joss, before turning to Drake. ‘Which reminds me … Would you mind if I took Pietro with me? Azof can’t carry two.’

  ‘Of course. I’m sure Pietro will appreciate the chance to shake off his fur. It’s a shame, though. I imagine you’d be wanting to spend as much time with Azof as possible before we go.’

  ‘If only thunder lizards could survive the cold of the Northern Tundra,’ Joss said. The idea of leaving Azof in the care of the local stables while he and the others were away training had been gnawing at him for weeks now. Hero looked to be just as distressed about leaving her own loyal mount behind, despite her efforts to hide her every emotion.

  ‘You’d think a sabretooth’s fur coat would mean they’d fare a little better,’ she muttered.

  Joss eyed Drake with hesitant curiosity. ‘Don’t suppose you’ve had any luck in designing that thermal cloak we talked about …’

  Drake shook his head. ‘Couldn’t conceive of anything that would survive a raptor’s claws, unfortunately. Nor a sabretooth’s fangs,’ he added after he’d swallowed his last bite and took a sip of black coffee. ‘You must be looking forward to seeing your friend again, though.’

  ‘It’ll be good to have him along. Not to mention helpful. But it still feels odd to think we’ll have a steward. I know it’s meant to teach us what it’s like being responsible for a prentice of our own some day, but I’m not that much older than him. Being in charge is going to take some getting used to,’ Joss said, though by now Drake looked to be only half-listening. His sea-green eyes were set on the window, his hand tapping against the discarded cutlery on his plate.

  ‘Nervous?’ Joss asked.

  Drake furrowed his brow, confused. ‘About having a steward?’

  ‘About going home.’

  The directness of the question forced Drake to pause. Turning his gaze from the window, he smiled awkwardly. ‘Yes and no,’ he replied. ‘I suppose, if anything, it feels like I’m slipping on an old coat that doesn’t quite fit any more.’

  ‘Family concerns?�
� Joss ventured, based on the stories that Drake had told during their time on the Way. Drake prodded his empty plate again, pushing it back towards the centre of the table.

  ‘Not really. They live too far from Starlight Fields. But you never know who you’ll run into, especially given how small all the Tundra settlements are.’

  ‘What of your ascension then?’ Hero asked. She was segmenting an orange, peeling back the skin to reveal the juicy innards. ‘How do you plan to be a paladero in such uncomfortable surrounds?’

  ‘Maybe I’ll apply to a mainland order when the time comes. Somewhere I can live without the shadow of the past hanging over me.’

  Hero, ever the diplomat, scoffed. ‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ she said, and popped a slice of orange into her mouth.

  ‘Round Shield Ranch could always use another set of capable hands,’ Joss said. ‘Not that I have any say in that.’

  ‘I appreciate the thought,’ Drake said with a smile before his eyes drifted back to the window and the world outside.

  Joss managed only a few bites of toast and half a glass of juice for his breakfast. He was too mindful of getting to the station in time to manage anything more. Bidding Drake and Hero a quick farewell, he left the inn.

  Outside, the Kingsday morning was still bright and crisp. The whole town was now bustling with festival preparations. Bunting had been strung up in a zigzag pattern from one side of the street to the other, while streamers had been wrapped around every lamppost, transforming them into oversized candy canes. Shopkeepers were adorning their premises with brightly coloured banners, and townsfolk milled about, making last-minute purchases or simply chatting.

  Joss ventured on, ill at ease but unable to explain why. Maybe it had something to do with the air. It didn’t have the funk of Thunder Realm, the earthy aroma of sun-baked dirt, the tang of lizard muck. It smelt instead of wet sand and stinging salt, and the threat of frost on the wind. It felt both familiar and alien, leaving him with a creeping sense of déjà vu, which he only shook off upon arriving at the stables where their animals were being kept.