Thorns in Shadow

by Sanan Kolva

  Thorns in Shadow

  Book 2 of The Chosen of the Spears

  Sanan Kolva

  Sky Warrior Book Publishing, LLC

  © 2018 by Sanan Kolva.

  Published by Sky Warrior Book Publishing, LLC

  PO Box 99

  Clinton, MT 59825

  www.skywarriorbooks.com

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

  Editor: LJ Bonham

  Publisher: M. H. Bonham

  Printed in the United States of America

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  Chapter One

  By mist we walk

  By shadows run

  From shrine to wood

  From rest to none

  Cold, pale mist wrapped around Lyan, stealing him into its depths. The trees and stone arches of the Shrine of Equinox vanished behind him, swallowed in white. The songs of birds cut off. He saw only muted light with no source as his friends and companions disappeared. The mist thickened until he couldn’t even see his stallion Shadowstar, though he could feel the horse’s confident steps.

  Where am I? Where are Kithr and the others? Fear gripped his chest and knotted his throat as he looked over his shoulder into gray haze. The doorway was gone.

  “Peace, Lyan.” The reassurance was more a sensation than actual words, like a soothing drink of clear water on a summer day.

  The touch on his mind made him jump. Lyan was far from accustomed to not being alone in his thoughts. He felt down the stallion’s shoulder, to the weapon strapped to the saddle, assuring himself that it, at least, remained close.

  Another reassurance, tinged with amusement, brushed his mind, then withdrew. Lyan found a thin smile. “Thank you, Equinox.” The mist muted his words and clung in his throat.

  He raised his eyes, as if the mist might somehow reveal the sky while it hid the land. Assuming there was anything to see at all. His understanding of magical portals was limited at best. No stars glowed overhead, but Lyan did see shadows forming through the fog. They resolved into branches high overhead. Mist faded, and Lyan found himself gripping Shadowstar’s mane with one hand, the other resting on Equinox.

  The Spear stood nearly as tall as him, etched with arcane runes. The serrated head shone, flawless, as if it had not seen centuries of battle. Even lacking expertise with weapons, Lyan could admire its craftsmanship and deadly beauty.

  From the Spear, a sensation brushed Lyan’s mind, it suggested a bird preening its feathers. He smiled faintly. Until a few days ago, he’d never thought Equinox, one of the two Spears of the Stars, most powerful magical weapons in the world, could be vain. Not until Lyan had taken the Trials and become bearer of the Spear had he even considered that the Spears might be aware and have thoughts of their own.

  Shadowstar turned to look at Lyan and tossed his head, snorting as if to assure his rider that their method of travel was perfectly normal. Lyan let out a breath that became a soft laugh. Releasing the stallion’s mane, he reached forward and stroked Shadowstar’s neck. “Even my horse is more familiar with magic than I am.”

  Shadowstar snorted again, then lowered his head to investigate a patch of ferns. Lyan drew a deep breath, filling his nose with the scents of fir and pine. Cones littered the ground, and when he turned his gaze to the sky, he saw tangled and twined branches casting the forest floor in shadows. Despite the heavy shade, summer’s heat pierced the air, stifling after the chill of the mist. Insects buzzed and whined in the still, heavy air, but no birds sang, and he heard none of the expected rustling of animals aside from Shadowstar’s movements.

  Much as Lyan wanted to rejoice to be under a forest’s sheltering boughs, these trees loomed with malice rather than welcome. He instinctively tried to sense the spirit of the place, as he would have at home in the elven forest of Eilidh Wood. To his surprise, the wood reacted to his touch, pushing back with sharp warning. Branches shifted, dropping dry needles down on him. Lyan raised an arm to shield his head, but no larger missiles fell from above.

  Raking fingers through red hair, Lyan shook out most of the needles and tucked straggling locks behind his long, pointed ears, careful not to tangle them on his ear cuff. He eyed the trees, wary of further reaction. “I’m not here to bother you. Just… passing through.”

  Branches rattled like dry bones, then settled. Lyan felt the forest watching him—just watching.

  “Do you know where we are, Equinox?” Lyan asked in a low voice. “Are we still near your shrine? What about my friends?” At the Shrine of Equinox, the Guardian who opened the portal had told Lyan it would take him “where he needed to go,” but offered no clues as to where that would be. Lyan had intended to accompany his human companions and help them retake their homeland. What part did this malevolent forest play in that goal?

  Equinox responded with reassurance. Lyan’s questions would be answered soon.

  A jingle of tack and the heavy step of a horse made Lyan turn, gripping Equinox. His shoulders relaxed as a cloud of mist resolved into a grim elf in brown leathers astride a chestnut horse. Kithr had been Lyan’s friend for nearly a hundred fifty years, since they were both children. When Lyan had left Heartshrine Village a few short months ago, Kithr had tried to convince him to abandon the idea, not trusting the humans Lyan chose to accompany. When he could not convince Lyan, Kithr had followed, revealing himself to the group when he could no longer avoid doing so.

  Kithr was a study in brown—hair the color of acorns, well-traveled leather clothes, tanned skin. Like Lyan, he surveyed their surroundings. His brow furrowed in a frown that held more surprise than irritation, and he turned to Lyan.

  “I don’t suppose we’ve lost your Tathrens?” Kithr asked in a low voice.

  “I hope not,” Lyan said. “And I doubt it.” He nodded at another mist cloud forming to Kithr’s right.

  “A pity.” Kithr watched the mist, bow in hand.

  When Lyan left home, Kithr would have followed no matter who he accompanied. However, Lyan hadn’t left with simply any humans. He had left in the company of men from the country of Tather. The country that, sixty years before, the elves of Eilidh Wood had invaded. As apprentice to the village astrologer, Lyan had been too essential to be sent to fight. Kithr, however, had answered the muster of Heartshrine Village. He’d fought and killed Tathrens. He’d lost his father and many friends to them. To humans, the war was history. To the elves who had fought, it was recent memory.

  The mists revealed the first of the humans: their leader, the Tathren lord Cailean Dev’gilla. His golden brown hair was trimmed short and his face clean-shaven. To Lyan’s eye, Cailean looked close in age to him and Kithr, and he sometimes forgot the human had seen only twenty-six years, not one hundred and fifty. Cailean glanced around, then nodded to Lyan and Kithr. Lyan counted him as a friend. Kithr tolerated him, a vast improvement over Kithr’s initial hostility, and nearly miraculous considering Cailean wielded Solstice, the second Spear of the Stars, and the impetus for the elven attack on Tather.

  According to tradition, Solstice had been granted to Tather for safekeeping, and Equinox to the elves of Eilidh Wood. Solstice had passed from generation to generation through a noble family of Tather. Equinox, however, had been hidden in its shrine, far from Eilidh Wood, protected by Guardians and demigods. To find the shrine, seekers had to solve a riddle written in the stars. Many had tried. Few had succeeded. And none who had sought the Spear had returned in over a hundred years. Resentful of the Tathrens and determined to right a perceived insult and inequality, elven warriors had fought, killed, and died in an effort to find and claim Solstice. They had ultimately failed, but at the cost of blood, hate, and chaos th
at could benefit no one but the Mad God himself.

  Trees shifted and swayed, spitting prickly pine cones at Cailean. He eyed the forest and shivered. His horse edged closer to Shadowstar without urging. “Hardly an auspicious greeting.”

  Lyan was less glad to see the next person who appeared. Cailean’s steward, Aikan, was a stern man in his sixties who had never hidden his dislike of elves in general or Lyan in particular. The lines of his face told of a man more apt to frown than smile, and he fixed the familiar scowl on Lyan. “What gods-forsaken abomination have you whisked us into, elf?”

  “I did not control the portal we entered, Aikan,” Lyan snarked. “At a glance, though, I would say a forest.”

  Kithr snorted a laugh, earning a glare from Aikan. “Shade, shelter, and cover in one place. Why should we be anywhere else?” He and Aikan held each other in mutual disdain, though Kithr usually managed to restrain himself from needling Aikan too often.

  “Bah. Just like an elf.” Aikan’s jaw tightened.

  Cailean scanned the forest. “Aikan, the rest of my men followed you?”

  “They should have, my lord,” Aikan answered. He gave Lyan another suspicious look, not convinced he wasn’t somehow responsible for the delay of the other four members of their group.

  A mist swirled into existence beside Aikan, and the gray-haired man’s horse drew back from it. Torqual and his mare appeared. The blond warrior rubbed at the perpetual stubble on his chin as he studied their new surroundings. When on foot, he stood equal height with Lyan, though on horseback he seemed shorter. Of all the Tathrens, he was the only one Kithr respected, as one warrior to another. He was sparing with words, respectfully cautious of Kithr, and usually polite to Lyan.

  After him came the brothers Dalrian and Shiolto, hunter and stable hand from Cailean’s keep, respectively. Both greeted Lyan with nervous smiles. Shiolto was the youngest of the group, still in his teens, while Dalrian had several more years, just cresting twenty. Of all the Tathrens, they had been the most welcoming to Lyan when he joined Cailean’s search for Equinox. At the same time, neither felt at ease amid quests for ancient magical weapons, meetings with demigods, magic portals, or actively hostile forests. Shiolto claimed such adventures were meant for men better than common peasants, but Lyan knew few he’d rather have at his back.

  The final member of their group appeared moments after the brothers. Unlike the rest of the humans, Yion was not Tathren, but a mercenary who had attached himself to Cailean for reasons he’d never completely explained. He was shorter than the others, and his features flatter. His eyes seemed to slant slightly. When caught in the right light, the center of Yion’s forehead had an odd oval divot he sometimes rubbed when thinking. At a glance, he drew little attention, carrying himself with calm ease, but Lyan knew that hidden under and in his plain, unrestrictive clothes, he bore an impressive arsenal of blades and throwing weapons to complement the short sword at his waist.

  “We’re all here,” Lyan said. He paused. The forest had, if anything, grown darker and more threatening as his companions arrived. “Wherever here is.”

  Dalrian shivered, gripping his sword. “Can we leave? This place feels creepy.”

  “And if we leave this forest, perhaps we can find landmarks, or a village… something to help us determine where we are.” Cailean walked his nervous horse in a tight circle. “And how far we have to go to reach my home.”

  Unexpectedly, Kithr laughed. “You mean to tell me you can’t tell where we are? Tathrens, and you don’t even recognize it?”

  “Then enlighten us, if you are so much better informed,” Aikan snapped.

  Kithr smirked. “I know quite well where we are. I once lived here, plotting and raiding your people. This is Malgor Forest.” He shook his head with another, softer laugh. “This, this is Tather.”

  Chapter Two

  From blood to blood

  Rage and hate

  By blood and blood

  Shall you know your fate?

  “Malgor Forest?” Dalrian repeated. “Lord Cailean, we’re in your lands!”

  Shiolto gaped. “That’s at least four month’s travel from where we were.”

  “Not just in my lands.” Cailean said, grim. “Malgor Forest lies in Ewart’s holdings.”

  Lyan’s spirits had begun to rise at the news that they had reached Cailean’s homeland, but Cailean’s reply sent his hopes crashing to the ground. Ewart Col’Renn was cousin to Cailean’s deceased father. Not content with his place in the hierarchy, and wanting Solstice’s powers for himself, Ewart had gathered an army and risen against Cailean. He besieged and eventually took Cailean’s keep. Cailean and a few men had barely escaped after the walls fell. Worse, in the midst of the battle, a powerful mage in Ewart’s service cursed Cailean, amplifying the strength it cost him to call on Solstice. Even a small use of the Spear’s power left Cailean drained and weak, while greater effort left him unconscious and weakened him for days after.

  “Ewart,” Kithr said. “He’s the one who chased you from Tather?”

  Cailean answered with a curt nod.

  “What are the chances he’s still busy looting your keep?” Kithr continued.

  “I can’t be certain, but high, I suspect.” Cailean’s voice was tight and his eyes smoldered with anger at the thought. “If you are suggesting we attempt to take his fortress in his absence, chances of that succeeding are not worth mentioning. I may be their liege lord, but his men are unlikely to open the gates and welcome me in. No doubt Ewart left someone behind to handle affairs.”

  “But if we could get inside, perhaps we can discover something that will help us defeat him,” Lyan offered, guessing Kithr’s intent. “There must be a reason we’re here and not closer to your stronghold, Cailean. The Guardians of the Shrine of Equinox said the portal would take us to a place we need to go.”

  “Then why in Ahebban’s Hammer are we in this accursed forest?” Aikan snapped.

  Cold wind swept over them, rattling branches like dry bones. Shadows drew closer as the forest closed around them and blocked the patchy sunlight. Lyan gripped Equinox.

  “Don’t invoke your gods here,” Kithr ordered. “They are as unwelcome under these boughs as Tathrens are.”

  Cailean reached for Solstice, as he eyed the forest. “Let’s not linger. We’ll discuss Ewart’s keep once we’re free of Malgor Forest. Kithr, do you know your way through?”

  Kithr nodded. “I know it. Stay close.” He scowled at the trees and spoke in Elven. “Back off. I have business here.”

  To Lyan’s surprise, the forest grudgingly complied. Brambles untangled, opening paths between the pines. Kithr kicked his horse, pointing her head toward one of the paths. The animal balked, and Kithr gave her another firm jab of his heels. She reluctantly obeyed.

  The other horses felt the same foreboding, hostile air. Only a combination of coaxing and cursing convinced them to follow—all the horses but Shadowstar. Lyan’s stallion viewed their surroundings with the same self-assured calm that Yion did. Shadowstar’s confidence didn’t carry to Lyan, though. He’d thought the Forests of Cossette, far to the west, uncomfortable for their absence of spirit, but this place was different. The spirit of Malgor Forest was awake and aware of them. It did not offer welcome. Lyan was as much an intruder as his Tathren companions.

  “This is even worse than Eilidh Wood,” Shiolto whispered.

  “Eilidh Wood simply distrusts you,” Kithr said with a touch of scorn. “Malgor Forest actively hates you.”

  “Then you elves should feel right at home,” Aikan snapped.

  “It doesn’t like me any more than it does you,” Lyan said quietly. “Try not to aggravate it further.”

  Kithr led, followed by Torqual and Cailean. Lyan followed them, and behind him, Aikan, Dalrian, and Shiolto, with Yion bringing up the rear. Brambles grabbed at their clothes as they passed, and branches dipped low even as riders ducked under them.

  Lyan winced as a branch scraped his arm. Elve
s did this. Someone with talent fed their anger into this forest. How long did they live here, to drive their hatred so deep into its core?

  The silence hung heavy enough that the first whistle of birdsong made Lyan jerk. He started to relax, feeling foolish, until he saw how abruptly Kithr stiffened.

  “Kithr?” he whispered.

  “Trouble.” Kithr said nothing more, but drew and nocked an arrow as he kicked his horse forward again.

  Lyan rested a hand on Equinox and glanced at the trees. The oppression grew stronger, joined by an itch between his shoulder blades as if someone intended to put an arrow in his back. What kind of trouble? What might sound like a bird, if not a bird? The forest hates us, but the elves who used it returned home when the war ended.

  Unless… they didn’t.

  A chilling understanding filled him. That wasn’t a bird.

  Lyan gripped Equinox more tightly and focused his thoughts toward the Spear. “Can you protect us from missiles? Please?”

  A pulse of warmth and a momentary sense of agreement answered him. Nothing else seemed to change.

  No second call gave warning of the arrows. Like a flock of deadly birds, shafts flew down from the tree branches. Kithr rolled from his horse and searched for targets. His bow rose to release lethal arrows in return, but he didn’t loose, seeing the arrows deflect off an unseen barrier just overhead. The Tathrens grabbed for weapons.

  Startled Elven curses rose from the trees as not a single arrow found its target. Another arrow hit the barrier harmlessly.

  “Enough!” Lyan shouted in Elven.

  Silence. Absolute silence. Then, finally, a cold, hard voice answered in the same tongue. “Who are you?”

  “Lyan, astrologer of Heartshrine Village.”

  To his left, someone dropped from a tree and stepped forward. “Get off that horse.”

  Shadowstar snorted disapproval at the sharp tone, but Lyan complied with the demand, swinging down from the saddle. Equinox in hand, he faced the thin, grim elf dressed in mottled brown and green.