The Nameless Throne: An Epic Fantasy Series (The Inkweaver Archive, Book 1) / Paperback

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Chapter 1

The danger came in the journey, not the destination.
That critical piece of patrol lore whispered through Arya Nameless’ thoughts as she rode behind Captain Narran at the top of their shield of twenty Raiders. Her gaze was in constant movement, scanning the snow-covered ground, the trees, the step of the horse ahead of her. Down the column, her shield-mates did the same.
An icy wind blew, tugging at their cloaks, gloved hands, and the heavy cowls drawn up over their heads. The sheer weight of the layers they wore in addition to their weapons required impressive physical stamina, but it was a necessity. An improperly dressed Raider was a dead Raider in the heights of the Diamondfang Mountains.
Today Arya was glad of the intense focus required on patrol. It was a welcome distraction from the simmering anger that tensed her shoulders so tightly they ached. Her mare tossed her head uneasily, sensing her mood.
Or maybe it was something else the animal sensed.
Arya’s wariness ratcheted up another notch.
Her shield was over halfway through the journey from their base, Icecliff Fort, to undertake a welfare check at the distant SheerRock Fort. The regular status update from their sister fort was several days overdue. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence—messenger birds were vulnerable to all sorts of things in this icy corner of the world—but Icecliff and SheerRock guarded the only two paths across the mountains from Dunidaen into the neighbouring kingdom of Andahar. Those paths had lain blocked and unused for decades, thanks to the Nightstalker, but still, it was Raider duty to make sure the border remained secure.
The trail they were on wound into a patch of thick forest, and the silence took on a tension that was almost palpable. Hands slid towards sword hilts. Horses caught the mood and snorted, tossing their heads. Weather and terrain were only two of the dangers Raiders faced on patrol. Predators, particularly bears, wolves, and snow leopards, were another.
And, most dangerous of all, the threat of—
A shout ripped open the stillness around them. The sound cut off as quickly as it had come. Without thought, Arya drew her sword with a clear ringing sound that echoed down the line as the rest of the shield followed suit.
She’d recognised Torsen’s voice in that cry. He and Charlin were the shield’s outriders—their job to circle the main column as it moved to forestall an ambush. Worry flared hot and bright in Arya’s chest, and she was hard pressed to hold and wait for orders.
“Halt.” Captain Narran’s voice rang out. “Arya, Laskin, go check on Torsen and Charlin. Everyone else hold here, stay alert, and be ready to fight.”
Without hesitation, Arya urged her mare off the trail in the direction of Torsen’s cry. Laskin came close behind, watching her back. Within a few strides, they found their path blocked by a thicket of trees and brush. Behind them, their shield had already vanished from sight.
Around them all was silence. No cries had followed the first.
She let out two short, sharp, whistles—a Raider signal that requested an echoing whistle to acknowledge and report location. Narran whistled back from the main column, and Arya waited for Charlin or Torsen to follow suit.
Only silence answered.
Shit. She tried again.
Nothing from either Charlin or Torsen.
Arya glanced back at Laskin, breath frosting in the cold. “They might have decided to try and go around the copse to make sure nothing was hiding beyond it. It’s what I would have done.”
“Agreed.” Laskin scanned their surroundings. There were no hoofprints in the snow, nothing to show passage of two mounted Raiders. His worry was evident in the way he clenched his gloved hands on his reins.
Arya dismounted, reaching for her bow and quiver of arrows. “Let’s split up. I’ll try and push straight through the thicket in case one of them dismounted, you circle it and see if you can ride around. We don’t go any further than whistle distance without the full shield as backup.”
He flicked a glance at her before turning his horse. “Be careful.”
Arya gripped her bow in her left hand, an arrow ready in her right, and moved forward into the trees. Branches scraped at her face and arms. Fresh snow crunched under her boots despite her attempts to step quietly. As the copse began to thin out, she spotted tracks breaking the white surface ahead. She knelt to take a closer look. They were human.
Either Torsen or Charlin had dismounted for some reason, or somebody else was out here with them.
A Shadeweaver.
Fear thrilled through Arya’s blood, and when she rose to her feet, she moved with new caution, bow nocked and raised. If a Shadeweaver ambush lurked nearby, she was starkly aware of how alone she was and how long it would take the shield to reach her.
But if Torsen was hurt, she wanted to get to him as quickly as possible.
The distant bubbling of flowing water teased her senses, but there were no other sounds in the deathly quiet afternoon, just that of her own breathing and the soft crunch of her boots in the snow. But there was something…
Arya froze.
It was almost winter. Any water in this forest should be frozen over.
Unease gripped her, and she quickened her pace. The source of the water came into sight as she stepped through a narrow space between two trees and emerged near the banks of a stream.
Arya’s gaze went instantly to the figure lying prone on the ground—Torsen—and the man crouched over him. Torsen was dead, his throat cut open, his body half sprawled in the shallows. They must have fought, the heavy weight of Torsen’s body cracking the ice sheet covering the surface of the stream.
The kill was fresh. The crouching man held a knife that still dripped, red splashes against stark white. He was young, probably only a few years older than Arya, wearing ragged layers and a thick woollen hat pulled down low over his forehead. Dark brown eyes watched her with faint amusement, as if the sight of her holding a drawn bow wasn’t threatening in the least. “Hello, Raider.”
She aimed her arrow at the man she had absolutely no doubt was a Shadeweaver. A snarl in the back of her throat ripped through the quiet. “Step away from him.”
The killer rose lithely to his feet, keeping loose hold of the knife. From that angle, he could throw it at her in a blink. She kept her breathing steady, confident she could loose her arrow before he could throw the knife.
He cocked his head. “Do you think you can kill me?”
The smugness in his expression burned her, and she loosed her arrow right at his heart. But just as her muscles bunched on the draw—in that briefest of moments before releasing the tension—Arya’s vision blurred. It was for a fraction of a second only, but when her vision cleared, it was to watch her arrow thud into the tree directly behind where the Shadeweaver had been standing.
She swore, stance shifting as she searched for him. He’d moved off to her right, his smile widening in a flash of white teeth against his brown skin. Quick as she could, she drew another arrow, loosed it. But her vision blurred again, and the arrow flew uselessly through the trees. Arya swore, drew and nocked another arrow, but this time the Shadeweaver had vanished.
Her heartbeat thudded in her ears as she continued to turn, gaze frantically searching the snow-covered trees, certain he must be hidden nearby and poised to attack with that knife.
But he was gone as if he’d never been there.
“Raven’s balls!” she swore furiously. How had he moved so quickly?
The sound of hoofbeats had her lifting the bow again, but it was only Laskin, Charlin close behind him. “You’re all right?” Arya asked them in relief.
“Fine,” Charlin said. “Torsen and I got separated checking out a noise he heard, and I—” Charlin came abruptly to a halt, turning white as his gaze fell on Torsen’s body. “Raven’s balls. Another Shadeweaver attack? How many were there?”
“Just one that I saw,” she said grimly, beginning to pace the edges of the clearing, looking for the Shadeweaver’s tracks to follow. There was nothing. Just hers and Torsen’s boot prints in the snow. “I got a couple of shots off, but he moved faster than anything I’ve ever seen. It was like he was toying with me. Then he just vanished. Dammit, where did the bastard go?”
“One Shadeweaver attacked a pair of fully armed outriders?” Laskin’s jaw was set.
Arya nodded. “And he took Torsen down with ease.”
“He separated us first, too,” Charlin said.
She didn’t have to say aloud how concerning that was. Shadeweaver ambushes usually involved multiple attackers and a cleverly laid trap, using the terrain and their knowledge of it to overcome the Raiders’ superior training and numbers.
“Could be Ranier is changing up his tactics,” Laskin said thoughtfully.
The name rang through her, eliciting a faint shiver. Raider gossip claimed that Ranier, the notorious leader of the Shadeweavers, sported a jagged scar down his face from eye to mouth, had eyes dark as coals, and breathed violence with every word. Not that anyone knew that for certain. Only the Shadeweaver inner circle knew what Ranier looked like or where he was at any given time.
Laskin dismounted and knelt beside Torsen’s body, reaching out to close his eyes. When he stood, the sadness on his face was replaced by focus. “We’d best get back to the shield. There could be more of them out here.”
“You two go back. I’ll track him,” Arya said, frustrated anger bubbling away inside her. It was easier to feel that than grief. She wanted to wipe that smug smile off the killer’s face. “He killed Torsen, we can’t let that go.”
“Captain Narran would never allow you to track him alone, and nor should she,” Laskin said. “Our priority is making sure all is well at SheerRock Fort. If it is, we’ll report this there, and they can send a patrol out to look for the killer and recover Torsen’s body for burial.”
“By then his trail will be cold,” she snapped.
“Laskin is right.” Charlin’s gaze was still on Torsen, but he tore it away. “Look what he did to Torsen. Besides, there are no tracks to follow.”
Her jaw clenched so hard pain snapped through her teeth. “Fine.”
As they turned to leave, Arya gave the forest around them one last sweeping glance. He was out there, close by, she could feel him on the cold air that swept through the trees.
“I’ll come for you,” she promised the empty forest.
And then she turned and ran after the others.