Thorns in Shadow

by Sanan Kolva

  Lyan bristled. “And how am I supposed to know how to use the Spear, when there’s no one to teach me?”

  “The same way previous Spearbearers have, master,” the pooka spat. “By using it. Are you truly a coward? Is the Spear of the Stars nothing more than a decoration for your wall? You have it. Use it. Use it or be used by it.”

  “I do use Equinox,” Lyan snapped.

  The pooka sneered. “Badly. You’ve discovered a few tricks, but you don’t know when to use them.” Its eyes narrowed. “Or when not to use them, master.”

  Lyan flinched.

  “You don’t even have the wits to shield your mind! Announce your thoughts to any being that cares to listen! How can I not hear what you’re thinking when you all but shout it?”

  Lyan’s grip tightened on Equinox. My thoughts are my own, not for anyone else to hear!

  Equinox responded—Lyan felt the touch of the Spear’s power. He was sure he also felt impatience from Equinox, as if the Spear agreed with the pooka and felt irritation at Lyan’s hesitation to call on its power. Lyan drew a deep breath and forced a calm, steady voice.

  “Where does this tirade fall in regards to you serving me?”

  The pooka froze, genuine alarm tempering the anger in its eyes as it remembered that Lyan now held a power over it equal to Nachyne. It opened its mouth, hesitated, and then said, “I presented an answer to an implied question regarding how to find the other elf. Master.”

  Lyan gazed at the pooka. Are my thoughts still open, or is my mind private now?

  The pooka shifted uneasily under Lyan’s gaze, and didn’t respond to the silent question.

  “Can I heal the pooka’s arm?”

  The first means that Equinox presented was to summon Nachyne to heal the pooka. Lyan rejected that immediately. “Don’t you think the god of monsters is angry enough at me already? Not Nachyne. Another way. Less… dramatic. I just want the pooka’s arm healed and whole.”

  Another possibility came to mind. With an effort, Lyan resisted the urge to use the power before he understood all the effects. “No. Tell me what ways I could use to mend it and how they work, so I can decide. Stop rushing.”

  Equinox relented, though it left Lyan with the impression that the Spear was sulking. Lyan gripped the Spear to steady himself as knowledge filled his mind—countless methods he could use to heal the pooka, from simple to unbelievably overdramatic.

  Consequences. Everything leads to something else. As an astrologer, I should know that better than anyone. What has the best consequences? There—that one. That will work.

  The pooka still watched Lyan with fear. Lyan realized his conversation with Equinox had only taken a few heartbeats. Lyan stood straight. “You did make a good point. I haven’t been using the Spear as I should.” Equinox glowed in his hand. “And I’ll learn by using it.”

  The pooka cried in pain, sinking to its knees and clutching its broken arm.

  I could make it feel every moment as the bones knit. The pooka has tormented me since I left Eilidh Wood. Now, finally, I can repay it.

  The pooka, pale, choked back sounds of agony and squeezed its eyes shut, biting into its lip to stop its cries, as it had when Nachyne punished it.

  Lyan caught himself. What am I doing? Torturing a helpless, injured creature, just because I can? Even when the pooka chased me, I had some chance of escape, however slim it seemed then. The pooka has no choice. Sickened at himself, Lyan willed Equinox to numb the pooka’s pain.

  The pooka started, head jerking up to look at Lyan. Then it turned its gaze to its splinted arm.

  “Don’t move it yet,” Lyan said. “It hasn’t finished healing.”

  “Then why did it stop hurting?” the pooka responded, more suspicious than appreciative.

  “Equinox numbed it.”

  “Why?”

  “You’d rather be in pain?” Lyan asked.

  The pooka’s jaw tightened. After a moment, it answered, “No. Master.” It wiped blood from its mouth.

  Lyan looked around the forest again. In a low voice, he said, “Shadowstar, I’m safe. Please find Kithr and help him find me.” He started walking, and the pooka followed. Lyan glanced over his shoulder to it. “I was right; you were bound by someone when you followed Cailean.”

  “Yes, master,” the pooka answered sullenly.

  “Ewart?” Lyan asked.

  The pooka snorted with scorn. “Ewart couldn’t bind his own shoes, much less one of my kind. He is nothing more than a tool to Porephyn.”

  “Porephyn, then.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you challenge me to bind you?” Lyan asked.

  “Because I believed you could, master.”

  Lyan stopped. “What?”

  “I was forbidden from telling even my god why I begged to be released from the mage’s hold. But I knew full well I was bound by a devotee of the Mad God.” Anger colored the pooka’s voice. “Do you think I wanted to be a part of a plan to strengthen and release my god’s enemy?”

  So you taunted me and challenged me, because if I bound you, it would break the previous hold. “No,” Lyan answered. “I’m sure you had no wish to do so.”

  He started walking again. After a moment, Lyan asked, “Do you have a name?”

  “Only such as you choose to give me, master,” the pooka said, voice cold.

  “Doesn’t your kind have names?” Lyan asked, frowning.

  “Names belong to free creatures, master,” the pooka said in an angry growl. “One who is not a free creature has only the name given by his master.”

  “Is there a name you want to be called?” Lyan asked. To be so completely stripped of freedom that you can’t even call your identity your own…

  “That. Is. Not. My. Choice. Master.” The pooka made each word a statement of its hate.

  “And I can’t ask your opinion on a subject?” Lyan countered.

  “What answer do you want?” the pooka asked, sullen.

  “An honest one,” Lyan answered.

  “You’re an idiot.” The words escaped the pooka’s mouth before it thought them through. The pooka froze, expression suddenly fearful again.

  Lyan smiled wryly. “Well, that was certainly your honest opinion, even if not an answer to the question I asked.”

  “Master, I…”

  “You answered honestly,” Lyan said. “I don’t fault you for doing what I told you. But I’d like an answer to the original question. Do you have an opinion or preference to a name?”

  The pooka eyed him warily, still expecting a trick or punishment for the insult. “My only preference, master, is that the name you give me not be the one I claimed as a free creature.”

  Lyan frowned. “Why?”

  The pooka stood stiff. “The name of any monster who is no longer a free creature becomes a word of scorn and insult. I do not wish that shame on my name.”

  That’s why he wants me to choose. Lyan searched for a word or name that wouldn’t be forever tainted by this knowledge in his own thoughts. A word came, one unfamiliar to him, in a language he didn’t know. “Praett.”

  The pooka frowned. “Does it mean something, master?”

  “Equinox suggested it,” Lyan said. “I think it implies ‘trickster’.”

  The pooka inclined his head. “As you wish, master.”

  They walked without conversation for a time. Praett broke the quiet. “Master.”

  “What is it?” Lyan asked.

  “I told you I was ordered to capture you.”

  “Yes…”

  “When I succeeded, I was to meet a band of soldiers at the forest edge, and they would be an escort to the keep. We are near their camp.”

  Lyan paused and looked at Praett suspiciously. “What, exactly, are you thinking?”

  He listened to the pooka, and only one thought ran through his head. Kithr is going to kill me for this.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Trickster and Shadows

  For hunter
and prey

  Trickster and Shadows

  A new game they play

  Lyan glared balefully at the Tathren before him. The man stood slightly shorter than Lyan, but far broader in the shoulders. He wore a uniform that must have meant something to those knowledgeable in Tathren livery. His face was grizzled and his eyes hard, brown hair cropped close to the scalp. He studied Lyan, then Praett.

  “This the one you were after?” He sounded dubious.

  Praett’s eyes narrowed. “You doubt me?” The honeyed voice dripped venom.

  The man took an involuntary step back. Grizzled veteran of countless battles or not, the pooka clearly left him ill at ease. “Uh… no. But I do have my orders.”

  “So do I,” Praett hissed. “And none mention for me to leave your head attached to your shoulders.”

  Lyan twisted at the cords binding his hands behind his back, but not too fiercely, and glowered at Praett. In Elven, he muttered, “I still can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

  To Tathren ears, the words probably sounded like curses or insults. The man in front of Lyan eyed Praett again. “What about elf magic? And does he understand us?”

  “What does it matter to you if he does or doesn’t understand?” Praett responded. The smooth, taunting tone was calculated to send shivers down the spine of anyone hearing it. “And elf magic isn’t your concern, either. I don’t recall asking for your presence.”

  “No more than we asked to be your escort,” the man countered darkly. “But since we both have our orders from our lord, we’ll both follow those orders, so we can be done with this pretense of cooperation. Then you can go back to terrorizing small children, or whatever it is you do for fun, and we can go back to protecting our lord’s keep.”

  Praett’s narrowed eyes remained focused on the man, and the creature didn’t say anything at all. The Tathren broke from the pooka’s gaze and gestured to the other nine men. They broke camp with swift efficiency, avoiding Praett and Lyan.

  Praett spoke in Lyan’s mind. “If you will it, master, I will gladly slaughter these sheep before they know they are in danger. But doing so will reveal the truth and my new allegiance, and will close the easiest path by which you can reach the prisoners.”

  “I know.” Praett couldn’t read all Lyan’s thoughts, but if Lyan directed one, the creature could hear him. Lyan kept the next thought private. This sounded like a good idea—a workable plan. I just didn’t realize how much being bound, being a prisoner even in appearance only, would remind me of Vynzent.

  To avoid the suspicion a shorn head would earn from anyone knowledgeable in bindings, Lyan had given Praett permission to make his hair long enough to tie back in a short tail. His arm had healed enough to make the sling unnecessary, though he still favored the limb. The remains of the pooka’s shirt still hung in tatters, while blood, bruises, and burns marked his skin. Praett’s glare challenged any to comment on his tattered appearance.

  Lyan had scuffed and dirtied his clothes. Streaks of mud and grass stains on his clothes and face gave him a look almost as ragged as Praett’s. Locks of red hair kept slipping down to hang in his face, irritating him. He shook his head in an effort to toss a particularly persistent one out of his eyes. The cords around his wrists were loose enough that he could wriggle free if needed, but their presence kept pulling Lyan’s thoughts back to fire and scalding metal pressed against his bare skin. The worst aspect of the role he played, though, was that to present the image of being a captive, Lyan had been forced to leave Equinox hidden in the trees.

  Lyan had consented to Praett’s idea only after he had reassured himself several times that he could summon the Spear in an instant. Equinox didn’t care for the separation any more than he did, but Lyan absolutely refused to let the pooka carry the Spear like some battle trophy.

  Even thinking about the Spear made Lyan struggle against the urge to call Equinox. “Remind me to keep to the plan!” he ordered sharply.

  “You are safe, master, and I will let no harm come to you. If I return to the keep without the company of these sheep, I will immediately be called into the presence of the priest, possibly with you still in my company. At a look, he will know the truth of my bonds, as these ignorant sheep do not. Reaching the prisoners will become far more difficult if he knows I am not his. So long as we enter with the sheep he ordered onto me, they will report to him, and he is unlikely to call for me, master. Then you will be able to free the prisoners.” Praett made an effort to remind Lyan of all the arguments in favor of the plan. After a moment, he added softly, “I cannot and will not betray you, master.”

  Lyan drew a steadying breath, hands trembled. He watched the Tathrens load their gear on the horses. They would be ready in moments. Lyan whispered to the wind in Elven. “Shadowstar, when you and Kithr find me, don’t attack, and don’t let Kithr attack. I know it’s going to look like I’m in trouble, but I’m not. I’m safe. Trust me.”

  “What’s he whispering over there?” demanded one Tathren. “Some elf magic?”

  Praett gave the man a bored, annoyed look. “If he is, it’s only that your wits rot away. Since you have none, I doubt you’ll notice any difference.”

  The Tathren was younger and rasher than his companions. He had a sword half out of the sheath before the leader stopped him, resting one hand over the blade’s pommel.

  “Let it go,” the leader ordered.

  “But sir!” protested the angry young man.

  Praett simply watched, smirking. “Come now, let him draw. Give me an excuse to play.”

  “Let it go,” the leader ordered again, voice hard. “Try to fight that thing, and you’ll be lucky if it kills you quickly. If you’re not lucky, you won’t die until after it’s broken every bone in your body.”

  The hot-headed young man hesitated. Praett sighed and yawned in exaggerated boredom. “Must have seen my last toy. A pity, that one… he still had at least ten bones I didn’t get to before his heart stopped.”

  All the men shifted uneasily, and the younger warrior pushed the sword back into the sheath. Lyan cast the pooka a sidelong glance. “Did you really do that?”

  Praett didn’t even blink. “I hated being forced to serve Porephyn, master, and I found every possible means to express it.”

  As if the near-incident hadn’t happened, the leader of the men addressed Praett. “Our orders are that the prisoner is to ride the horse we brought. You can travel however you like.”

  Praett’s voice became honey again. “Oh, I’ll ride with the elf, of course. So none of you will have to fear his dreaded magic.”

  Angry mutters answered him, ignored by both it and the leader of the Tathrens, who silently pointed to a horse.

  Praett smirked, took Lyan’s arm, and in the Trade tongue said, “Come along, little elf.”

  Lyan jerked away. “Rot in the Mad God’s Pits,” he snapped in the same. He noticed the slight relaxing of tension from some of the Tathrens as they made the assumption their prisoner didn’t speak or understand their language.

  Praett just chuckled, and yanked Lyan to the horse. He freed the elf’s hands long enough to climb into the saddle, surrounded by wary, armed Tathrens. He glared at them. The men stumbled back several steps.

  They’re as afraid of me as they are the pooka. Nylas and his like have certainly kept the fear of elves alive.

  Praett bound Lyan’s hands again, then swung onto the horse behind him. The horse shifted uneasily, disliking the pooka, but didn’t try to throw off the riders. The leader of the Tathrens took the reins and tied them to his saddle, obviously not trusting Praett any more than he did Lyan. They rode north.

  o0o

  As the afternoon grew late, Praett shifted uneasily behind Lyan. “Your friend is near, master. And his arrow is aimed at me.”

  Lyan’s eyes swept the land, but he couldn’t see Kithr or Shadowstar. He could, however, feel the itch he associated with being followed. If Kithr hadn’t attacked yet, Shadowstar must have h
ad some success in holding Kithr back. “Can you speak to his mind?”

  “I can.”

  “Then tell him a message exactly as I tell you.”

  “Yes, master.”

  “Lyan says to tell you to wait. He has a plan, and he’s safe. He says we’re playing Trickster and Shadows. He’s the bait and you’re the snare, like we used to.” Lyan thought of the game he and Kithr had played so often as youths. If Kithr were thinking clearly, he’d recognize the pooka couldn’t know such things. “Tell Kithr that.”

  Silence for a moment, then Praett responded. “He says I’m a lying, treacherous, misbegotten bastard, and that he will see to it that I die a slow, painful death in agony. He demands to know why he should listen to any of my lies.”

  That sounded like Kithr, certainly. But he hadn’t started loosing arrows yet, so he was listening, or at least being cautious now that he knew the pooka was aware of him. “Tell Kithr this: Lyan says he can call Equinox with a thought and Nachyne with a word. The pooka is bound to serve Lyan by the will of his god, and if he disobeys that, he will welcome the slow, painful death you promise over what Nachyne will do to him.”

  A shudder of fear ran through Praett, and he whispered aloud. “I will never betray you, master.”

  “Tell Kithr what I said,” Lyan ordered in an undertone.

  “I have, master. He demands that he speak to you directly.”

  “Can you arrange that tonight?” Lyan asked.

  “Easily,” Praett answered.

  “Let Kithr know.”

  “It is done.” After a moment, Praett relaxed. “His arrow remains on the string, but is no longer drawn or aimed at my head. I’ve felt the bite of his arrows before, and would prefer not to repeat the experience.”

  Kithr seemed willing to consider the possibility Praett told the truth. Lyan at once wished for and dreaded the conversation to come.

  He’s probably going to punch me. And I am going to completely deserve it.

  The Tathrens didn’t press much further. Though the land offered little shelter, they stopped at a site that had been used recently, judging from the trampled ground and dark remains of a fire pit. The men dismounted and set up camp. Praett pulled Lyan off the horse, then left him for a moment as it spoke to the leader of the Tathrens in a low voice.