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  Prologue

  Beneath the sole of his left foot, Matrien could feel the sharpness of the rock as it dug into his skin. It felt, worryingly, as though it might pierce the skin at any moment, its tip a polished sword of beachside stone. He was, however, finally beginning to get used to the pain.

  Heavy coastal winds tested Matrien’s stability, battering him with constant cold gusts that seemed to push in each direction. He swayed as naturally as he could with each passing gust, bringing his arms outward to recentre himself. The tips of his fingers caught the cool breeze as it passed.

  “Stop flailing, Matrien!” Hayler called from his nearby perch. Though he couldn’t see the greying man–thirty years his senior–with him being at his rear, he could tell he had that damned grin on his face, happily taking pride in picking out Matrien’s flaws. “How do you expect to raise a sword when both of your arms are keeping you balanced? Bring them in, boy. Bring them in!”

  It was easy for him to say that! He’d had the talent for it, even in his younger years. Hayler had once even been a rival to Matrien’s father.

  “Bring them in,” he repeated again, noticing a break in Matrien’s concentration.

  What he didn’t know, or chose to ignore, was that it was a struggle for Matrien to keep himself upright, even with his arms out. What more did he expect from him?

  Matrien shook his head, cussing quietly.

  “What was that?”

  Matrien heard but did not reply. Instead, he caught sight of that bunch of rocks that sat almost on the horizon, surrounded entirely by deep blue. He often dreamt of swimming out to them, just to see what was there. They became his focal point. Focal points made balancing easier.

  Carefully, Matrien began to bring his arms in. Everything screamed at him, his arms, his legs, his heart. Every inch of Matrien’s body told him it was a bad idea, that he couldn’t do it. Yet still, his arms continued inward. Matrien had been the one to request this training from his father, even against his mother’s wishes. The least he could do was try.

  Matrien’s arms now pointed at a sloped angle toward the floor, everything began to shake. From ankle to head, everything quivered with the extra strain it brought. The muscles in Matrien’s lower leg, it seemed, already aching from having kept his body upright for minutes on end, were finally nearing their limit.

  Still, he brought his arms closer. To his sides.

  Matrien held that position, hands flat against his legs. It was only for a short moment, but gods it felt good. The wind flowing through his hair, the sun glaring upon him like a sort of spotlight, the stability of his balance. It even seemed that Hayler had fallen silent.

  But then it all fell apart. Matrien’s upper half tipped ever so slightly to one side, setting off a chain reaction below. His right arm came back out, trying to readjust. It was too late. Matrien’s foot fell loose from its position, the sharp rock finally scratching through the skin as his leg grazed against it.

  Matrien tumbled. Quickly.

  The noise Matrien made as he hit the flat base beneath him was embarrassing, to say the least. It was a sort of thud, mixed with a whimper, as the air escaped his lungs.

  Winded, he clambered back to his feet. Hayler had risen from his perch, only to check that Matrien was still breathing before he placed his rear down and chuckled to himself.

  “Better,” he said. “You have some fight in you, at least. That much we can work with.” He pulled his sword from its sheath, the silvery thing gleaming almost white where light hit it. “Again,” he continued, before pulling out a cloth to polish the blade. His gaze was distant, looking out to sea.

  Matrien didn’t even count the number of times he fell, the number of times he climbed back atop that sharp point of rock. He tried it with both feet and failed equally with each. Eventually, however, it seemed he had made some sort of progress, maintaining his balance for what seemed a dozen seconds before falling.

  “Are you not bored yet?” Tariyen asked as Matrien toppled another time. His sister had descended the cliff-face from the palace and found her place atop a smoothed rock which dipped perfectly to become a cradling seat. Only as he stood, entire body now battered and aching, did Matrien realise she hadn’t even been watching. Instead, she perused a book in her lap with half interest.

  Tariyen, like him, had fair skin–fairer than many who came to visit our lord father, at least. Despite being born within minutes of one another, they were not born identical. They still shared likenesses in some areas, of course, namely the darkness of their eyes, their black hair, and the freckles scattered atop their noses. But those were things that many Peranese people had in common.

  The pair did share a birthmark, though. A small, crescent-ish blotch at hip level.

  In most ways, Tariyen could not have been much more different than him. She was neat, in all senses of the word. Her clothes were tidy, her hair was pulled back into a tightly wound bun, and her nails were always free of dirt. Their mother would have it no other way.

  “Why would I be bored?” Matrien finally replied. Of course, he was bored. He wanted to train properly, to have a sword in his hands. But it was the fact that she had said it. Matrien couldn’t let her be right. “I could get up and do it again. I could do it a thousand more times. You—” He couldn’t think of the right word to call her. “You girls wouldn’t understand.”

  That had come out wrong entirely. It wasn’t because she was a girl. It was just because…

  “And what wouldn’t a girl like me understand?” Tariyen replied, her face red but her features surprisingly calm. “How to act as you do? How to throw your weight around, despite having accomplished nothing of note? How to hide from any sort of responsibility? How to smell like a cow?”

  Stopping deathly still, Matrien brought his arm upward. He sniffed at his armpit. With the stress of training, a patch of darkish green had formed where it had once been a lighter olive. Did he really smell like a cow?

  Matrien looked across to Hayler for sympathy. Nothing. The man, whose skin had begun to wrinkle in the past few years, offered only a shrug. Matrien frowned back at him. He’s my sword master, Matrien thought. Should that not count for something? Some sort of mutual loyalty, at least.

  Oh well. Matrien was too far gone and far too proud to abandon the argument now. Craning his neck back in annoyance, he looked to the sky. Grey. Strange; it didn’t rain here often.

  “You understand only books, Tariyen,” he said, “you sit at home, spending almost all of your time with your nose between those pages. What could there possibly be within them that is so important? Do they have some use for our family? At least I’m trying to do something, no matter how much I lack the skill for it.”

  Tariyen made no reply. He had left her speechless! Her mouth was gaped open to reveal a tongue stained by the spices of her noontime food. A smile almost crept across Matrien’s face. But then he realised.

  Her mouth was not gaped because of anything he had said. No. She was looking past him. Out to sea.

  “Shit,” Hayler muttered, rising from his seat. “Lord Matrien, take your sister. Make for the palace.”

  Lord? Had he called Matrien lord?

  Matrien followed his sister’s gaze. It was near impossible to see, with the haze that formed on the edge of the horizon, but there was something. Dots. Lots of dots. Much like those rocks he had used for focus, they were scattered, dipping into the sea. Only, these dots moved. Moved fast.

  Ships!

  “Did you not hear me?” Hayler’s voice was much louder now. A shout, almost. “Take your sister and run!”

  Matrien hurried across the rocky ground toward Tariyen. She remained still, though her mouth had closed. Thirty steps from her, he manoeuvred carefully over a crevice between two larger slabs, placing his feet on either side of the gap so that each step between the two was almost a jump. The two rocks ended in a short drop, where Tariyen’s cradle-like stone sat. Matrien threw himself down, landing with surprisingly fleeting prowess. His sister had fallen to her knees, book resting at her side.

  This all seemed like an over exaggeration. Could these ships not just have been guests of their father? This would not have been the first time that their father’s allies approached by sea. Especially those that had to come from a distance.

  Tariyen on the floor at his side, Matrien looked back out to sea, counting the ships–they were now close enough that he could make out each individually.

  Twenty is where Matrien stopped counting. That was enough. That much told him this was no envoy, no messenger. These were in great enough numbers for an entire army.

  An entire army…

  “Tariyen, get up,” Matrien said, his heart sinking at the thought.

  Suddenly, all of his fatigue hit. Everything ached, more so than it had when he had fallen that last time. Again, everything screamed at him. No! He needed to push on.

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  Tariyen had made no attempt to stand, so Matrien grabbed her at the top of her arms, fingers wrapping around them almost entirely, yanking her upward. The ease of that action surprised him; it had not been that easy when they fought as youths.

  Her feet unsteady, Matrien’s sister fell limp as he loosened his grip. He managed to catch her before she fell completely, and she eventually found her footing. She said nothing, but at least she was standing.

  Gods be damned, he would get her moving. Even if he had to drag her.

  Stumbling along beside him, Tariyen’s eyes had become empty with the blackness of her dilated pupils. Even so, she continued onward.

  Without his shoes–left behind in the hurry beside the rock he had been using to train–each step risked the pain of stepping on a loose bit of stone or stubbing his toes against their solid edges. Even with trained skin, heavily calloused, the speed of movement tore at whatever soft stuff remained, and Matrien’s soles stung with each time they placed. He hissed each time, trying not to cry.

  They made it to the cliff edge in decent time. The jagged face was at least ten metres tall, its stone hard and dry and dusty where sand had blown in and become stuck in its cracks. It did, luckily, slant inland, allowing for small, hand-width ledges on which they would be able to rest for moments while climbing.

  Hayler had moved in the opposite direction. He was now running down the beach, toward the sea. What did he think he would do? Sure, he was a Spinsword, second only to Father, but that would mean nothing against an entire army.

  Matrien thought to call out to him, to tell him to come with them. Something told him he shouldn’t. If that was how he had chosen to go, then who was Matrien to convince him otherwise?

  The ships were close now, approaching rapidly.

  It had already started raining as Matrien started the climb. Being the more experienced climber, it seemed only fitting that he should go first. He would help Tariyen up, should she need the help–she was almost as good at this sort of thing as he was, surprisingly. She followed closely behind, copying each hand placement, each foothold. She said nothing as they climbed.

  They made quick progress up the wall of rock, scurrying like some breed of mountain goat. This had been their playground, placed perfectly at the rear of the palace. Within moments, they found themselves halfway up. Huddled closely on one of the small shelves, Matrien could feel the heat of his sister’s breath. They watched as the ships got scarily close. Close enough, even, that Matrien could now make out some of those who manned the nearest of them.

  It seemed that those atop the decks of the ships had flocked to their fronts, and they flung their arms about in excitement. As if for sport, they cheered at the sight of children fleeing, at the sight of a single man ready to stand against them. Bastards!

  At his side, Tariyen began to whimper. It was quiet at first but grew loud enough that it bested the sound of rain battering the rock face.

  “How much further?” She bellowed, her voice shaking. Her hands, gripping an outcrop of stone, shook similarly. She was shivering. He was shivering.

  As though watching an image of his future self climbing the face, the rain falling short where it hit his imaginary body, Matrien mapped out the route up. He would place his feet here, and push using his legs there.

  This time, they would take the shortest route. It was also the trickier route, but they would have to take that chance. There was no time.

  “Not too far,” Matrien smiled, before flicking away the slick-wet hair that dangled over his brows.

  Even if it wasn’t too far, there was a lot to do. Their pursuers–and they were pursuers–were beginning to lower smaller, oar-drawn boats into the crashing water. There were hundreds of men atop them. Hundreds. Matrien could only pray for Hayler. Pray that he, by some miracle, might escape.

  If only they could make it to the palace. There were over a hundred Spinsword-trained men in the city, each worth four of any other.

  “Let’s go, Tariyen,” Matrien said. A fresh eagerness rolled over him. “We have caught our breath here for much too long. There is no time.”

  Matrien cut his finger on a spike-like rock as they neared one of the shortcuts, red blood spilling out. Since that last stop, they had skipped all the breathing points, and were close now. So close.

  This shortcut was a jump. Nothing too big, of course, but more dangerous than anything they had done up to now. And the rain had thoroughly set in, soaking both them and the cliff. The gap lay between Matrien’s current hold–a protruding slab which rose only a few finger-widths from the face–and the next with no foothold between them. The distance was no more than five, maybe six, steps across. In better conditions, it was Child’s play. Below lay nothing but hard, unrelenting stone.

  Tariyen shook her head nervously as Matrien turned back to her.

  “You can’t!” She called. Her voice was muffled partially by the rain, which only grew heavier the longer it took them to climb.

  “I have to! You have to! There is no other way. We cannot turn back!”

  With that, Matrien returned to the task at hand, knowing she was crying behind him. He told himself not to look down but couldn’t help it. Death looked back at him. Matrien had climbed this face too many times to count, yet it now seemed something else entirely, something hideous. The drop was steep, nothing to grip onto should he fall.

  Matrien closed his eyes, hands gripping the edge tight, trying to remember his training. It was a silly thing to do at such a height, of course, but felt necessary. Sticky phlegm filled his dry mouth as he readied for the jump. Matrien swallowed it back hard, before slowing his breathing. He inhaled deeper, exhaled for longer.

  Nerves not quelled entirely, rain and sweat mixed to caress the side of his face like ice-cold fingertips. Matrien was as ready as he would ever be.

  Matrien made one last prayer to the gods, to any that would listen, his own or otherwise. Then it was time. Ignoring the nervous shuffling of Tariyen, he started.

  Careful not to lose the grip of his trembling fingers against the slick rock, Matrien first pulled his body to the left, arms stretching to the right where they still clung beside the drop. With a quick movement, he swung his torso to the right, flinging himself with a push of his feet against the rock below.

  The rock crumbled. Matrien’s heart appeared in his throat. He was dead.

  The closer he got to the next hold, the higher it seemed to appear above him. It seemed almost as if it laughed at Matrien while he fell.

  ‘Stop flailing your arms!’ Hayler’s voice said. This time, he really couldn’t help it. Matrien tried to catch the air as if it had substance. It didn’t. He wasn’t going to make it. There was no way.

  Then, as if from nowhere, the small clump of rock Matrien had intended to land his feet upon appeared from the darkness. His flailing right hand, aimless as it was, somehow caught at the nearest edge of it, and Matrien’s entire body swung beneath the thing. A clanging pain burst through his knee as it crashed against the cliff. A sharp edge had cut through his bottoms, and warm liquid trickled down his leg.

  With the slippiness of the ledge, Matrien almost lost his hold, heavy body now a burden he did not need. Luckily, he managed to steady himself with flat feet against an angled section of the wall. Sighing heavily, Matrien burst out into a sort of manic laughter. His heart still sprung from his chest, only this time the blood rushed through him. That thrill—

  “Matrien,” a soft voice rose barely over the barrage of rainwater.

  Matrien’s heart stopped. Only this time it didn’t restart.

  Tariyen stood at the other side of the gap–now much bigger because Matrien had broken the foothold. She didn’t even cry. Just stood, eyes unblinking.

  No! Matrien thought, pulling himself up onto the ledge. No, damn it! This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t. They had to make it out, make it back to the palace. Together.

  Matrien’s eyes swelled as he steadied himself. Tears were trickling down his face. He was sure that they must have been. He just wished that he could feel them.

  Tariyen’s head cocked as her eyes swelled with tears. She gave Matrien the look that a dog might give its owner knowing that it was to be put down. No anger, just sorrow.

  Save her, idiot! Find another way across! Find something!

  The boatmen had found their way ashore, beaching their rowboats and hopping out in droves. Before them, Hayler stood in the first defensive Spinsword stance–Matrien recognised it instantly. Even so, there were so many of them. So many.

  Hayler fell out of stance.

  He turned.

  The boatmen seemed to fall in behind him.

  No way.

  If he hadn’t been crying already, Matrien would have been now. To see his father’s most loyal friend, a man who had watched them both grow up, his swordmaster, as he led an enemy army toward the palace. Matrien had to swallow a few times to keep himself from heaving.

  Hayler’s new army began to change. To morph. They had stopped, thrown their weapons to the floor as they might do in surrender. Only, they weren’t surrendering. Instead, they seemed to grow pale, sick-like. Clouds bellowed from their open mouths–more like smoke than the usual steam that came with the cold.

  Deathly screams followed. Like men set ablaze, their skin reddened and peeled, falling to the floor at their feet. In its place, a shining silvery metal remained.

  What?

  Matrien shook his head, blinking multiple times. He was seeing things. He must be. These men weren’t becoming metal, they couldn’t be.

  When Matrien opened his eyes, things had changed. The metallic texture of their skin had spread, covering the entire surface. These were no longer men of flesh and bone. No, they seemed—

  “What are they?” Tariyen called from across the gap.

  Devils. Hayler had brought damned devils to Peran.

  “I don’t know,” Matrien shouted back, still clutching to his grip on the rocky wall. “But what I do know is that you have to get across. You have to get across now.” That was it. Getting Tariyen across was most important. If they couldn’t get themselves off this cliff, they were all but dead.

  Matrien couldn’t tell if the rain had worsened, or if it was just that his eyes were clouded with tears, but the gap seemed so large now.

  “I can’t do it!” Tariyen cried. Her legs quivered, feet unsteady on their hold.

  “Yes,” Matrien said, voice stern, “you can. You must.” He was thinking, scheming, trying to think of the best way to get her across. What could she do but jump?

  The monsters in the shape of men had made it to the rocky base where the sand of the beach ended. They had swords in hand again, and barrelled up at ridiculous pace. Matrien watched as they passed his boots–still placed where he had been training. One kicked away a shoe as he passed, a smoky cloud of laughter escaping as he laughed. This was a game to them.

  “I will catch you, Sister. I promise.” One hand still tightly gripped, the other now reached out, Matrien tempted Tariyen across. He feigned as much confidence as he could muster, knowing full well that there was a possibility he couldn’t do it.

  “I can’t do that, Matrien!” She was weeping terribly now. “Look at the gap.”

  Yes, the gap was big. Matrien knew that. He had caused it, for the gods’ sake.

  “You must. If you don’t, you will die!” Hurry up, Sister! Selfishly, the thought that he would soon be dying with her crossed Matrien’s mind as she wasted time.

  “But what if I just go back down?” Tariyen asked. “They wouldn’t kill a child, Brother.”

  Matrien looked down at the madmen as they followed the path the pair had taken. Hayler led them through the quickest route.

  “You cannot be sure of that, Tariyen. How can you be sure that these men follow our ways, that they even have a moral compass?” Fucking jump, Tariyen, Matrien thought, a voice in his head screaming for him to continue on without her if she kept this up.

  Finally, Tariyen took a weary step toward the edge, taking a final look at the gap that lay before her. With Matrien’s arm stretched out, it shouldn’t have been much further than what he had jumped moments prior.

  “Take this first,” Tariyen said, pulling the leather strap of her bag from her shoulder.

  The bag? The fucking bag?

  Before the words ‘forget about it’ could leave his mouth, the thing was already flying toward him. A surprisingly good throw on her part.

  Matrien pulled the bag over his shoulder. If she could just get herself across equally safely!

  Tariyen took a step back, readying herself. She took a deep breath in. Copying Matrien’s movements, she first moved her torso to the left, preparing to swing. With a slower movement than his own, she brought her arms back across. Then she jumped.