Jazana Carr mounted her horse. ‘We’ll be gone most of the day,’ she said.
Rodrik nodded. ‘I packed provisions.’
Jazana suddenly suspected Rodrik had guessed at their destination. But she said nothing, and did not question him further or protest the uninvited mercenaries. She simply squeezed her legs together and rode off down the narrow forest path, letting Rodrik and the Rolgan brothers follow. Soon they had left their sleepy camp behind, heading north into the quiet woods while the first rays of sunlight dappled the mossy earth. It was a fine day for travelling, Jazana decided, with an almost breezeless chill and a sky blue with calm. The sunlight felt good on her face. Jazana turned her eyes skyward, glad to be away from her pavilion and her dream-plagued night. Behind her, Rodrik and the others had fallen into an easy banter, telling bawdy jokes. Suddenly, Jazana was glad to have the men with her, especially Rodrik. He was deeply devoted, for a man, and she leaned on him often. Today, she knew she would need his rock-steady presence.
For more than an hour they rode north, never coming against another traveller or any fork in the road. The woods had thinned considerably by this time, and Jazana knew she was close to Haverthorn. A shiver rippled across her skin when she saw the road veer east. Slowly she reined her horse back, pointing at the bend in the road with her chin.
‘That way,’ she said. She glanced at Rodrik Varl for his reaction, but he merely nodded.
‘To Haverthorn.’
Den and Gace seemed to have no recollection of the name.
‘Haverthorn? What’s that?’ asked Gace.
‘You’ll see,’ said Rodrik, then steered his horse alongside Jazana’s as they made their way along the new, gravel-laden road. Gace and his brother followed without hesitation, and as they left behind the forest the land immediately flattened into an ugly plateau studded with rocks and shadowed by distant hills. Here were the Bleak Territories in truth. And here was Haverthorn, burnt-out husk of a village, standing like a withered crone against the hills, its skeleton standing stark against the brown earth. The chirping wildlife of the forest disappeared behind them, swallowed by the dust sweeping across the plain. The sight of Haverthorn chilled Jazana Carr, forcing her to adjust her cape. She heard Den mutter behind her, commenting on the place’s ugliness. Rodrik Varl silenced him with a sneer. The red-haired soldier trotted up to ride close beside his mistress, giving her a worried glance. Jazana could not bring herself to meet his gaze.
‘Tell them to keep back,’ she told Rodrik softly.
Her bodyguard obeyed, and Den and Gace retreated several paces, letting their queen ride off ahead of them with Varl. Jazana kept her eyes on the dead town looming ahead of her. Once — a lifetime ago — it had been her home. Back then Haverthorn had been a booming mining town, a place for desperate farmers displaced by drought to come and attempt to feed their starving families. Gem barons and warlords feuded over the town’s productive mines, bleeding them dry over the years until at last nothing was left of Haverthorn or its people except the windblown remains of shanty shacks and rusted tools. As they neared the town, the homesteads dotting the roadside winked at them with broken windows, their dilapidated shutters and roof shingles flapping and waving in the breeze.
‘Jazana,’ said Rodrik gently, ‘there’s nothing here.’
He didn’t know why she had come, and up until now he hadn’t questioned her. Good Rodrik, so loyal, so true. So unlike her wretched father.
‘I know,’ she replied. ‘There’s something I need to do. Stay with me, Rodrik.’
Of course he would stay with her; he didn’t need to answer. As Den and Gace fell further behind, Rodrik rode slowly beside her as they skirted the town, avoiding its centre and keeping to its outskirts. The broken homesteads gave way to the taller constructs of the gem barons’ homes and the merchant stores that had sprung up like weeds to service the populace. Jazana recognised the stone towers and taverns, all abandoned now. Like her father and later herself, the barons had drained Haverthorn of every drop of blood, hiring mercenaries to protect their mines and driving their workers mercilessly in the deep, claustrophobic diamond pits. This was where Jazana Carr — the real Jazana Carr — was truly born. Here she had learned the value of money — and the terrible hardship of being female. Both lessons had been taught to her by her father, Gorin Carr, a man she had shed no tears for when he died.
‘Where are we going, Jazana?’ Rodrik asked carefully.
A blot against the hills came into Jazana’s view.
‘There,’ she said after a moment.
In the shadow of the hillside rose a small stone castle, as bent and dilapidated as any of Haverthorn’s buildings. A single turret rose up from its stout foundation, shedding bricks and leaning awkwardly to one side. Around the castle stood a stone fence, mostly rubble now. Even from such a distance Jazana knew it plainly, using her memory to fill in the blanks. When she was a girl here, there was always moss burgeoning through the mortar, staining the ungainly edifice. The gaps in the fencing stood out to her like broken teeth. As she rode closer to the castle she did not spare a glance for Rodrik or the others. She was horribly enchanted by the place, succumbing to ancient memories that screamed suddenly to life. A knowing hush fell over her mercenaries. Rodrik Varl slowed his horse a little, letting his mistress take the lead.
‘I was a girl here,’ said Jazana Carr. Her mount bounced slowly beneath her as she rode, rocking her. ‘A long time ago.’
How long ago was it now? She counted up the years. She had been seventeen when her father had died, releasing her from that particular hell. And all the things she had done since had brought her to this place today, and even the glory of being queen withered in the shadow of this dark place. Once again Jazana Carr was a girl, running into the forest, running from her father and his vile bed. Like a wind the memories rushed at her, pulling her expression into a violated grimace. She felt his hands on her virgin body, stripping her, taking her maidenhood, taking her into his arms and his sheets, again and again, ignoring her cries, cursing her, beating her. Jazana Carr swallowed the bile welling up and thought for a moment that she couldn’t go on. Yet the place still beckoned her. It had called her out of Carlion and would not be sated, not until she faced it.
‘Den and Gace, stay here, both of you,’ she told the brother soldiers. ‘Rodrik. .’
Like a loyal dog Rodrik Varl followed her to the castle. Having him so close gave her strength. She had never told him all that had gone on here. She wanted to tell him now, yet her voice had fled. And it seemed to Jazana that Rodrik somehow knew the sad tale anyhow. Suddenly, he was more than just a bodyguard or would-be lover — he was her only friend. The thought burrowed its way deep into Jazana’s mind. Here in this place she had had no friends. An only child with a dead mother. Servants who turned a blind eye to her misery. A father who knew no morality. These had been her teachers.
They came to the decimated fence. Jazana stopped her horse. The turret of the castle hovered over her. She got down slowly from her mount and briefly ran her hands over the smooth, moss-covered stones of the fence. Rodrik Varl dismounted and stood to her side, watching her. Jazana took a cautious step forward, entering the yard through a gap in the short wall. Rocks and weeds littered the ground. Field mice scattered as she approached, the only inhabitants the desolate keep had seen in ages. A breeze from the hills pulled at Jazana’s cape, making the shutters of the old keep screech. Jazana spotted a window, its glass still intact. Though clouded with spiderwebs and filth, she could almost see through it into the dining room where she always took her meals and her father always leered at her with expectant eyes.
Jazana stopped walking. She stared into the window. Then, without thinking, she reached into the dirt and picked up a handful of stones, hurling them at the window. When all of them missed, she cursed and scanned the earth for a bigger rock and, finding a perfect projectile, sent it hurtling toward the keep. The window shattered with a satisfying implosion of noise and glass. But Jazana didn’t stop. Hearing the noise snapped something inside her, and she picked up another rock and then another and more, hurling them again and again at the castle. Rodrik Varl watched in stunned silence as his mistress hissed and screamed as she continued her assault, snatching up every rock she could until there was only dust at her feet. Finally, the rocks depleted, Jazana Carr fell to her knees and clutched at the dry earth. Her body shook with sobs. Unable to lift her head, she watched her tears fall to the ground. Her father’s face glared at her from across the years.