Prophecy's Ruin (Broken Well Trilogy) Read Free Page A

were quick and viscous shadowmanders – lizard-like things that hunted across the border. Battu noticed one now, a blood red flash that slipped from rocks and darted into Kainordas, becoming briefly visible as it wrestled a brown beetle. A second beetle scuttled away in alarm, and the mander leaped to kill it too – though it only brought one back to Fenvarrow to eat. It seemed that shadowmanders killed creatures of light more instinctively than hunger dictated. Battu admired them. If only they were bigger.
    Other common but more pathetic denizens of the border were spirit creatures known as the Trapped. These were creatures once born of light, which were now consigned to a different life. Leftovers from the Shadowdreamer Assidax’s war, shaped by the constant panic of being so close to their homeland and yet unable to cross the threshold, they were the slightest of the undead. The best to be said about Assidax , thought Battu, is that she’d caused the enemy such heavy losses . Those who had been resurrected by her would never find their way to Arkus’s Great Well, even once their bodies had rotted off their souls. They were shadow creatures now, and they would go to Assedrynn.
    The Trapped sensed Battu’s presence in the shadows and drifted clear of him. One made the mistake of flashing past and he seized it instinctively, as a cat would snatch a flashing object. The thing twisted pitifully in his ethereal grip.
    Who were you?
    The Trapped couldn’t remember. Its weakness filled Battu with disgust and he focused his power to destroy it. Somehow it felt what was coming and writhed eagerly. It wanted peace so desperately, it would gladly go to the Well of its ancient enemy. If Battu had been in his body, his stomach would have turned. He pushed the wretched thing away, denying it the mercy it sought, and it wailed soundlessly in despair.
    Battu spread out along the border like oil on water, searching for a point of safe access into Kainordas. There was none to be found. Despite the storm in Whisperwood, here the skies were clear and the moon shone brightly. He didn’t dare travel into Kainordas on such a night. There was too much risk that a shadowline would break and cut him off from his journey home. He would have to rely on other eyes to know what went on in Whisperwood tonight. He sped along the border with another destination in mind.
    •
    Alone in his tent, the goblin Turen pored over his maps, wondering where to strike next. As he stooped to place pins in likely targets, chill water from the ice lantern above dripped onto his neck. He straightened to rub it over his tar black skin, welcoming the cool sensation.
    Around him were camped several hundred goblins and Arabodedas – the pale men of the south. This was one of six such encampments along the border, all of which had been making forays into Kainordas. Turen’s command had tallied the worst of the damage so far, and he meant to keep it that way.
    A dry, deep voice spoke behind him. ‘Commander Turen.’ Fear flushed him with adrenaline, but he managed not to start. In the darkest corner of the tent rose a darker shadow, a man-shaped void with uncertain edges.
    ‘My great lord,’ said Turen, bowing. ‘You honour me with –’
    ‘Report,’ said Battu.
    Turen swallowed, forcing himself to raise his eyes and meet a stare he could not see. ‘I’ve placed scouts and archers along trade routes to Holdwith. We don’t venture within a league of the fortress, but instead harry their patrols and shipments. Six days back they sent forth a sizeable force to scour the countryside, but we retreated across the border and suffered few losses.’
    ‘New prospects?’
    ‘The outlying village of Lerinsk is heavily guarded, but I’m confident I can lead a sneak attack against it. I would aim to cull the guards without entering the village, but that would look like an aborted attempt to penetrate.’
    ‘Do it,’ said Battu. ‘The Throne’s gaze must be