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  About Daughter of Independence: The Chronicles of Kydan 3

  “A first-class trilogy. The Chronicles of Kydan has all the traditional fantasy ingredients expertly mixed with new ideas.” GARTH NIX

  In the new land, everyone works together to bring Kydan the wealth and strength it needs to survive the inevitable confrontation with the old world. Strategos Galys Valera believes the key to defeating the Hamilayan Empire is buried in the papers left behind by her dead lover, Kitayra Albyn . . . but can it be found in time?

  Across the Deepening Sea, Empress Lerena Kevleren is forging her power base made from human sacrifice and her overwhelming control of the Sefid, the source of all magic, before turning her gaze on Kydan.

  This final confrontation between old and new, magic and freedom, and between empire and a growing nation state, will determine the fate of millions - not least the brave band of colonists who set out from Hamilay to settle Kydan with courage and hope in their hearts.

  Contents

  Cover

  Blurb

  The Old World

  The New Land

  Kydan

  241st Year After the Descent

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  244th Year After the Descent

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Also by Simon Brown

  Copyright

  241st YEAR

  AFTER THE

  DESCENT

  PROLOGUE

  Aideme, old before his time, widower and father, finished shooing the last of his small herd of dairy cows under the shelter of the milking shed. His oldest boy, Mundy, slow but obedient, was tying each cow to the bail bar as it came in. Aideme stared again up into the sky, feeling the pressure of the coming storm pressing down on him. Black clouds, thick and curling, eased overhead. A warm wind dried his eyes and mouth, rattled the shed’s paling door. He heard one of the beasts complaining and turned to see Mundy locking the nearest cow into the bail itself.

  ‘How’s that?’ he demanded. ‘You think we’re milking them, then?’

  Mundy looked up with a confused expression, knowing from his father’s tone he was doing the wrong thing, but not sure why.

  ‘We’re putting the beasts in to protect ’em against the storm. They were milked once today. You’ll have ’em dry as a summer brook if you try again.’

  ‘Oh,’ Mundy said, and unlocked the cow.

  ‘Now scatter some hay before ’em and they’ll be happy for the night.’

  ‘As you say,’ Mundy said and left to get the hay.

  Aideme watched him and shook his head. He loved the boy dearly, but he would never make a farmer by himself; he was not bright enough to find his own tossle in the dark let alone make a living from the soil, even soil as rich as the dark loam that covered the land along the east coast of Hamilay. His daughter, Euseme, on the other hand, was something else. Slight, lazy, sharp as a scythe, she could run the farm, if her gluey lungs did not claim her first. Together, Euseme providing the brains and Mundy the brawn, they might make a go of it. If only his poor dead wife was still around, Aideme could look at the future with some confidence, but her lungs had given out before her thirtieth year.

  Aideme glanced from the shed to the low series of mounds circled by a fence that made up the family graveyard. Generations of his ancestors lay there, together with his wife and three of their stillborn children, and one day, in the not too distant future, he would join them. He hoped he could marry off one of his children before then, ensure that the farm stayed in the family.

  A distant rumble brought his mind back to the present. He was not sure if it was thunder or waves crashing on the nearby shore. Mundy strode past, breathing heavily as he hauled a bale of hay into the shed. Aideme glimpsed Euseme lighting candles in all the windows. In the east, a grey veil of rain started falling from the sky, a curtain before evening. It was time to get inside.

  He helped Mundy scatter the hay, then told him to go inside and help Euseme ready the evening meal. He checked the cattle one last time, then tested the shed’s supports, although he knew they were sturdy enough to withstand any storm. He was making excuses to stay outdoors. Aideme’s widowhood was lying on him more heavily than usual, which it did now and then, and he did not want his children to see his discomfort. He stared again out towards the graveyard and half wished he was dead and gone already. He was tired of worrying about the future.

  One of his dogs yowled. He could see it straining on its tie near the cottage’s front door. Its silent mate, smaller and more cautious, was staring hard into the dusk.

  ‘Shut up!’ he yowled back, but the rising wind threw his words away.

  Now both dogs were sounding off, and the hair rose on the back of Aideme’s neck. He looked behind him, but saw nothing except the gathering storm. Dust got in his eyes and he blinked. Time to go inside and forget his misery. It was going to be a long night, with bad weather and skittish dogs both trying to howl the cottage down.

  He stepped out of the shed. One of the beasts complained. He decided to ignore it. Then the beast did something he had only heard once before. It bellowed high, the sound almost like a human scream. He turned around, peered into the gloomy shed. The cattle nearest him were shifting sideways, bucking at their ties. The wooden rail groaned with the sudden load.

  Aideme pushed the first beast on the flank to straighten it, then went behind, making sure he was out of kicking range. The cow at the furthest end had collapsed onto its knees, and was trying to keep up its head. Then Aideme saw the shadow that hung over it. He squinted and stared. Not so much shadow as a real darkness, as if that part of the world had been cut out and thrown away, leaving only deepest night behind.

  ‘Hello?’ Aideme said, trying not to sound as afraid as he suddenly felt; he even forced himself to step closer. ‘Who’s there?’

  *

  In a way, thought Velan Lymok, this must be what it is like riding side by side with a twin you do not particularly like. He glanced sideways at Gos Linsedd, commander of the defence forces for the city of Kydan, and wondered if he looked as stiff and aloof on his own mount. They both held their hands knuckles forward with the reins held down, they both made sure their feet in the stirrups were parallel with the ground, they both held their backs as stiff as washer boards. Officers of the old world, Velan thought, that’s what we are, and look where we’ve ended up.

  He looked away from Gos and instead studied the flat river landscape they were riding through. The grass was brown with late summer, but still soft enough for horses to eat. The river, the Frey, gurgled past in old age, starting to broaden and slow for its final descent to the sea where lay the city of Kydan on its three estuarine islands. It was hot, but
not unpleasantly so, or perhaps Velan was just getting used to the warmer climate of the New Land, so markedly different from his old home of Rivald, where even in summer the days were likely to be dark, cold and stormy. The horizon north and south was lost beneath a heat haze, and eastward was hidden behind the Walking Mountains, the source of all the rivers in this part of the world. Behind them, westward, the horizon was obscured behind a cloud of dust kicked up by the column of dragoons and Kydan infantry that the two officers were leading on their way to Sayenna.

  Velan found it difficult to believe that only a few tendays before he had marched out of Sayenna, second-in-command of an army intent on conquering the city of Kydan for Rivald. And now here he was, returning with an army of Kydan to take Sayenna in turn, closely supervised by the ever-suspicious Gos Linsedd. And all of this because of the naked ambition of a twisted man from a terrible, twisted family. Numoya Kevleren had been the last of the Rivald Kevlerens, and possibly the most demented, although Velan was realising much of this in retrospect: at the time he himself had been struggling to survive in a world that no longer made complete sense to him, and Numoya’s behaviour had seemed at best idiosyncratic and at worst the normal response to the terrible pain and disfigurement he had suffered when he had lost Kydan in the previous year to an invading army from the Hamilayan empire. Since Numoya’s death and the destruction of the army Velan had part led, the officer had spent a great deal of time trying to come to terms with events and the tides of fortune. The only fact he was sure about was that, somehow, he was still alive, although not yet completely out of danger. He again glanced sideways at his companion. Commander Gos Linsedd for one did not trust or like Velan; the Kydan never said as much, but his tight-lipped, reserved behaviour towards his fellow officer ever since the expedition had left Kydan for Sayenna showed the truth of it.

  Velan caught himself. Did he just describe Gos Linsedd as a Kydan? How strange. It was like Velan describing himself as someone from Sayenna and not from Rivald, for the commander had been one of the Hamilayan colonists who had made Kydan so strong, and such a threat to the plans of Numoya Kevleren. Gos Linsedd was Hamilayan from the top of his helmet to the bottom of his riding boots, in the way he dressed, in his manner of speech, in the way he gave the impression that anyone who was not Hamilayan was somehow inferior . . . and yet, Velan wondered if the commander thought of himself as being Hamilayan any more. For that matter, did Velan consider himself an officer of Rivald any more? Had he not left that life behind when he voluntarily took service with Numoya Kevleren, knowing full well that Numoya had no intention of returning to Rivald but rather was determined to build a new kingdom for himself here in the New Land?

  That was an interesting question, and Velan knew that upon the answer depended a great deal indeed.

  There was a ‘Halloo!’ from ahead, and one of the scouts Gos had sent before the column was returning at a gallop. The scout pulled up sharply next to the commander and said breathlessly, ‘Warriors! Up ahead, forming a line in front of a large village, sir!’

  ‘How far?’ Gos asked.

  ‘About an hour’s ride, sir.’

  ‘And they’re not moving? Just forming a line of defence?’

  The scout nodded, too busy catching his breath to speak.

  Velan stood in his stirrups and studied the terrain more closely. The waters in the Frey were running a little more wildly than they had been even a few hours ago, and Velan would swear the river was narrower. Gos and the scout were watching him curiously.

  ‘Orin of the Two Rivers,’ Velan said vaguely, as if talking to himself rather than the others.

  ‘Is that a place?’ Gos demanded.

  Velan nodded absently. ‘Indeed. It is a place. A village. Almost a town. The largest between Kydan and Sayenna. A close ally of Numoya Kevleren.’

  Gos looked grim. ‘Then we must attack,’ he said determinedly.

  ‘Not necessarily,’ Velan said. ‘They would have lost a number of their best warriors at the battle for Kydan, either dead or captured. And remember, I was Numoya’s chief soldier. I think I can persuade them to let us pass in peace.’

  Gos looked uncomfortable.

  ‘You don’t trust me,’ Velan said flatly. There, he thought, it is in the open. Let us see how this Kydan – or Hamilayan, or whatever he is – deals with it now.

  ‘You were my enemy.’

  ‘You expect me to raise an army from a single town to threaten Kydan? Without any Kevleren on my side? Surrounded by your soldiers?’

  Gos cleared his throat. ‘I will come with you.’

  Velan knew Gos was avoiding his questions, but marked it as a small victory for all that and was content. ‘Of course.’ He smiled thinly. ‘I expected no less.’

  Gos ordered an ensign to take charge of the column, then nodded to the scout, who turned his mount and led the two officers away.

  The scout had said the village was an hour’s ride away, but he had been riding at a good trot. At the easy pace the three men moved east, set by Gos so the column was never too far behind, it was nearly two hours before they saw in the distance the line of soldiers ready to defend Orin of the Two Rivers. Velan stood in his saddle again and saw the glistening waters of the Elder River less than a mile away; houses and fields occupied the land between that river and the Frey to their north.

  ‘Will you let me go ahead?’ Velan asked Gos, not entirely innocently, but before the commander could reply, said, ‘Better yet, why don’t you come with me? That way you can make sure I don’t betray you.’

  The scout looked nervously between the two officers.

  Gos grunted and kneed his mount into motion.

  A group of six soldiers split from the line before them and walked forward to meet the horsemen. As they got closer Velan saw that most of them were ill equipped to defend against Kydan’s dragoons, and were too young or too old to put up much of a fight anyway. There were two exceptions, however, both of whom looked fit and carried firegons. He vaguely recognised them, but could not remember their names. Still, Velan thought they might recognise him. He spurred his horse forward and cried out, ‘You know me! I am Commander Velan Lymok, who served under King Numoya Kevleren, late of Sayenna! Why do you come armed against me and those who travel with me?’

  Gos looked surprised at Velan. ‘They speak our language?’

  ‘All who dealt with Sayenna learned our language. It was not the way of Numoya Kevleren to lower himself to learn the local tongue.’

  ‘We recognise you,’ said the older of the two armed with firegons, ‘but not the company you keep.’

  Velan glanced at Gos, who was staring noncommittally at the party. At least, Velan thought, he was not throwing them a challenge.

  ‘He is Commander Gos Linsedd of Kydan, late of Hamilay. The Kevleren’s army was destroyed outside that city, and I am on parole. King Numoya Kevleren himself is slain.’

  The men from Orin were shocked. ‘Slain?’ their speaker said. ‘A Kevleren?’

  ‘By the hand of his own Beloved,’ Velan said.

  ‘I do not believe it!’ the speaker said defiantly. ‘Quenion Axkevleren would never harm her master! She loved him too dearly!’

  ‘Believe it,’ Gos said flatly. ‘She pulled his own knife out from his own belt and stapled his jaws together.’

  ‘It is true,’ Velan said quickly, his tone conciliatory. He remembered now when he had seen these two. ‘You knew Quenion, I know.’

  ‘Yes,’ said the speaker. ‘She knew me and my brother.’ He nodded to the second man who carried a firegon. ‘She was straight-speaking and honourable in her dealings with us.’

  ‘You were not at the battle?’ Gos asked suspiciously. He was staring at the firegons now.

  ‘We saw enough of Kydan when we supported Maira Sygni in his assault on the city last year. Neither of us had any wish to live through that again.’

  Then Velan remembered Quenion talking about the two warriors from Orin who had helped her and Numoya es
cape Kydan during that very battle. It was too much of a coincidence for these two not to be them. ‘You must be Adulla, then, and your brother Velopay.’

  The man said nothing for a moment, then nodded slowly. ‘Then all you say is true?’

  ‘I give you my word. I have no reason to lie to you, and my companion has no reason to attack Orin. We go as straight as possible to Sayenna.’

  ‘To order its surrender.’

  Velan blushed. ‘Indeed.’

  ‘And what will happen to Orin of the Two Rivers, and all the other villages in between, when Sayenna comes under the control of Kydan?’

  ‘That has not yet been decided,’ Gos said levelly. ‘It will no doubt depend on how Orin and the other villages behave towards Kydan.’

  ‘What Commander Gos Linsedd means,’ Velan said smoothly, ‘is that there is room for manoeuvre. The city wishes good relations with all its neighbours, and awaits developments.’

  The one called Adulla exchanged glances with his fellows, then nodded. ‘We will not impede your way to Sayenna.’

  The six men returned to the line, could faintly be heard giving orders, and the line retreated back to the village, never quite losing its shape just in case it would be needed after all.

  ‘You see,’ Velan said to Gos, ‘there is no need for us to fight our way across the continent.’

  The commander grunted, then spoke shortly to the scout. ‘Return to the column. Tell them to get a move on.’

  *

  The first bite of warm flesh made his whole body thrum with sudden energy. He fully realised what instinct had been telling him all the time. He wanted meat, warm meat, not the cold slimy flesh he had tasted when he first had woken beneath the sea an eternity ago. He ignored the sound of the beast as it fell to its knees, and bent over to sink his teeth into its flank once more, when something alive but smaller than his first prey separated itself from the shadows and growled at him. A man.

  The creature only dimly understood he was being spoken to, only dimly remembered that he too had once used words, once looked like this straggly, pathetic thing now advancing on him. He took another bite from the haunch of his bellowing prey, ignoring the intrusion. Something slapped across his shoulders, stinging him. He swatted vaguely at whatever it had been, missed. Then something cracked across his skull, making him cough out gobbets of meat. He reared up in sudden fury, and saw the man retreat a step, a long pole in his hand. For the briefest of moments the creature almost returned to its meal, his hunger overcoming his anger, but then the man swung at him again, and the anger won.