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At first, the heat from the flames had been welcome. Toryn had not realized how deep the cold had penetrated until the feeling returned to his limbs. But now they ached, a deep, agonizing ache, refusing to let go despite the heat. They stood in a line, chained together at the ankles, with a roaring fire crackling at their backs. He and his fellow guardsmen had endured the brutal two-day march with little rest, the odd scrap of food, and an occasional drop of foul-tasting water. Toryn had suffered the most. His colleagues were tough, used to hardship and strenuous work. Whereas Toryn’s life on the farm, and even the trek with Hamar, had not prepared him for such treatment. He had marched in a trance, watching his feet as they trudged in silence, hour after hour to the relentless rhythm of the line. He had not noticed the dark, spikey treetops of Wyke Wood peering over the hill until his stomach had knotted.

‘Get back in line!’ A fist struck Jedrul’s midriff. He stiffened, determined not to bend, and stepped back. Toryn recognized the Ruuk who delivered the blow. Grebb, the raider who had fought Hamar and Elwold, stood opposite. Grebb sneered. ‘Stay there until I tell you to turn.’ Toryn arched his back as the cloth of his shirt felt ready to burst into flame. He glanced out the side of his eye to Grebb. The Ruuk’s lips moved as if counting.

‘Alright, you lot. Turn!’ Toryn winced as the clasp rubbed against the raw skin on his ankle. But that was soon forgotten as he faced the fire. He shut his eyes, but still they smarted against the heat. Grebb laughed. ‘You’ll soon be warm.’ He mocked Toryn. ‘Need to have you ready for your training, eh.’ Toryn turned his head, but Grebb strode forward and grabbed his hair, forcing it back to face the front. ‘Too hot for you, sonny? Would you be happier north of the Trench?’ He pushed Toryn’s head. ‘Nah, too weak. You ain’t going to last long in the wood.’

Toryn stiffened, determined to show Grebb he was not finished yet. His fist clenched as he imagined smashing it into Grebb’s flat, gray face. He blinked away the heat of the fire and looked towards the wood. Behind the hot, shimmering air of the fire, the black tree-tops quivered like dark grasping fingers, clawing at the air, groping for lost souls to lure into its lair. Toryn’s fist unclenched; Hamar had described this place well. The tall firs stood defiant against the cold, challenging the daylight to pierce its murky shield.

‘Right, where’s the sorry leader of you filthy lot?’ Grebb strolled down the back of the line. Toryn caught sight of Roold out of the corner of his eye. Grebb pushed him in the back, sending him closer to the bonfire. ‘There you go, cappy. That’ll dry you off.’ Grebb stepped up to his side. ‘Need you looking your best to meet the lady.’

An injured guard at Roold’s side wavered and fell. Roold stooped to help him stand, but Grebb shoved him aside and grabbed the ailing man by the throat. He hoisted him to his feet and yelled in his face. ‘Stand or you’ll be on the fire!’ The poor man groaned as Roold and Nander hooked their arms in his and held him upright.

Grebb seized the man’s hair, yanked his head back and peered at his face. ‘Don’t you waste my time. I didn’t bring you here to die.’ He let go and chuckled. ‘Well, not just yet.’

‘Enough!’ Uldrak’s rasp set Toryn’s teeth on edge. ‘Stand them down, fool. I want them ready to fight, not ready to eat.’ He flicked his hand — the flames died. The relief was immediate, but short-lived. Uldrak stood before the smoldering ashes. His hooded head turned, prompting a shudder to pass down the line. Toryn could not see the wyke’s eyes beneath the shadow of his hood, but he recoiled as an icy chill scraped across his face. Uldrak rubbed his gray hands together. ‘Let’s take a closer look at you.’ His thin lips curled. ‘Archonian Guard? More like withered, old maids.’

Grebb stood at Uldrak’s side, but Toryn noticed he kept a few paces between them. He pointed a trembling hand towards Roold and stammered. ‘That… that one’s the captain.’

Uldrak stopped opposite Roold. ‘In all but name, but he’ll do.’ He moved to the man propped up by Roold and Nander. The wyke spat. ‘This one’s no use. He’ll be dead in two days from those wounds.’ He clicked his bony fingers in the guard’s face. The sick man choked and collapsed. Uldrak’s nose wrinkled as he regarded the fallen guard. ‘Unchain him and dump the carcass on the heap. That’ll keep the wolves off our backs.’ Roold went to move. Uldrak snapped. ‘Don’t!’ Roold froze. The wyke jabbed a finger at Roold’s chest. ‘Unless you also want your bones tossed to the wolves, I suggest you stay in line.’ Two of Grebb’s crew hurried forward and removed the fallen guard.

Jedrul whispered between clenched teeth. ‘Poor sod. Won’t get his farm on the plain.’

Uldrak passed Nander. Every muscle in Toryn’s body clenched as he drew near. Uldrak stopped. He twisted to face Toryn. Toryn’s head spun. His heart raced, his stomach turned, but he stood firm. Uldrak took a step closer. Beneath his hood, faint features of a gray, lined face came into view. Toryn fought back the bile rising in his throat as dull, yellow eyes met his, freezing his insides under the wyke’s glare. He felt his body sag as Uldrak stepped back. He raised his arm. A finger extended from his sleeve, pointing at Toryn’s head. ‘Keep an eye on this one.’

Grebb scoffed. ‘What? The boy?’

Uldrak spun to face Grebb. ‘Yes, the boy! Fool.’ Grebb shrank back as Uldrak hissed. ‘This one has a half a brain which makes him twice as dangerous as you.’ The wyke twisted back to Toryn. The wrinkles at the side of Uldrak’s thin mouth deepened. Toryn breathed out as he moved on and strolled to the end of the row. Uldrak turned and rasped. ‘They’ll do. Take them into the wood.’

Grebb staggered back. ‘Me? But I thought…?’

‘You don’t think. I don’t need you to think. Just do as I say. I have business on the border.’ Uldrak swung his cloak to leave, then stopped. He jabbed a finger back at Toryn. ‘And make sure you take that one to see the lady.’

The tall firs shut out what little light the thick clouds allowed to pass. But it wasn’t the gloom that troubled Toryn; it was the whispers. They began the moment he entered the outskirts of the wood. The voices spoke another tongue, one he knew to be that of the scrawls on the rocks that had destroyed the Singing Stone. At first, they goaded him, then taunted until the remnants of his confidence lay in tatters. Now the voices made a promise, a cruel promise of a slow, painful demise. But not one ending with the merciful release of death. They would break him, crush his spirit until he became as them, a slave to all that is evil. But part of him would remain true. Not out of kindness, but in a cruel act of spite. The good in him would witness the depraved deeds his masters demanded of him, but without the chance to redeem the evil meted out by his own hands. And Toryn believed them.

He stumbled on, no longer feeling the ground under his feet, or the clothes on his skin. Not that he cared, for his mind numbed as it emptied. Toryn could not remember a time when he had not tramped beneath the canopy of leaden branches, bending under the weight of the damp air. The face of an old man with a gray beard; fields of swaying barley bathed in the orange light of a late sun; a distant mountain top. They flashed briefly before his eyes, then faded. He walked alone, struggling to remember his name, his home and the faces of his friends. But the voices in his head persisted, and with every whisper they took a little more.

‘Ha! Always call for their mother. No, not your mother, boy.’ A voice. Not a whisper, more of a croak. ‘But I’m the closest you’ll get to a mother around here.’ The dank air smelled of plowed fields on a wet autumn morning. Toryn shuffled back. His hands groped in the dark, finding tree roots jutting from an earthen wall.

He squinted, peering into the gloom. A shadow moved in what he assumed to be a small cell. ‘Where am I? Where are the others?’

The figure limped closer. An old man bent and placed something at Toryn’s side. He grunted. ‘Always the same question. Where am I? Where am I? Isn’t it obvious?’ He groaned as he forced his back to straighten. ‘But no, never, how are you today, Dohl? Did you sleep well, Dohl?’ The man turned, dragging his feet as he made his way to a slither of light. ‘Nobody worries about poor old Dohl, poor old, knackered Dohl who’s been on his feet all day.’ Toryn blinked as the door creaked open. The silhouette of the crooked man stood briefly in the light. Toryn guessed he would have been a tall man in his prime, but the years had obviously weighed heavily upon him. His spine was so curved, he had to pull his head painfully back to look ahead.

The man muttered, ‘He’ll do as he’s told, no need to ask Dohl what’s on his mind. Always clearing up the mess.’ He pulled hard against the door, scraping it across the ground as it shut. The man talked to himself as he secured the bolt. ‘I remember a time when…’ he scuttled out of earshot.

Toryn slumped against the wall at his back. His hand went to the object Dohl had left him and found a chunk of bread. He bit into the hard, stale bread. It tasted foul, but his hunger got the better of him. As he chewed, he peered about the room illuminated by slivers of yellow light spilling through cracks in the ancient wooden door. Dohl was right. He sat in an underground cell in the middle of Wyke Wood. It could not be worse, yet thankfully the whispers had stopped. But what about Roold, Jedrul and the others? Toryn finished his bread, certain his stomach would suffer before long, and slumped against the wall. He had no memory of how he had arrived at the cells, or being separated from the guards. Perhaps, if he found a way out, he could locate Roold, and together they would escape this cursed place. Grebb was reluctant to enter the wood, so they could be few in number, or equally reluctant to fight. And if others were in the same, poor condition as Dohl, they would meet little resistance. The wood of the door was old and rotten in many places. If he could reach, it would not take much force to break.

Toryn edged onto his side and slowly rose onto all fours. He tugged at the chain attached to the ring around his neck: it was short, too short, and he could only rise to a crouch. He examined the wall. The chain attached to a hook buried in the earth. He pulled. It shifted a little. His spirits rose. If he could free the hook, he would have a sturdy chain to choke Grebb.

Toryn leaned back and wrapped a few links around his hands. He tightened his grip, drew a breath, ready to yank the hook free.

A cry. More joined. Cries of pain and terror came from outside. His hands dropped, he slumped to his knees and fell onto his face. The whispers told him to let go; the whispers told him to listen to the anguish of his comrades; they promised him he would soon meet their mistress; they boasted of changing times when nothing would ever be the same again.