Thorns in Shadow

by Sanan Kolva

  “You’re fast, Kithr, but you have no way out,” Torqual said. “I told you before, using the same tactics only works until your enemy learns your tricks. I’ve known what you would do every step of the way. Why do you think that entrance wasn’t as guarded as the others? You’ve done everything just the way you would have done seventy years ago.”

  “Not quite everything,” Kithr snarled. “Seventy years ago, I wouldn’t have trusted a Tathren.”

  Torqual laughed. His humor was cut short as he dove for cover. Kithr’s arrow nicked him. A volley of arrows rained onto Kithr’s position, and he darted behind another bench. Only one archer scored a hit.

  “No need to drag this out, Kithr. I know why you’re here—you came because we have Lyan.” Torqual wisely stayed behind shelter as he spoke.

  Kithr jerked the arrow from his leg with a short sound of pain. His burning eyes raked the wall in search of Torqual. “Where is he?”

  “Unharmed… for now.” The gloating sneer in Torqual’s voice implied the threat. “Do you want him to stay that way? You know what Tathrens do to elves. But do you know what disciples of Murdo will do to one?”

  A shiver ran up Lyan’s spine. The words hung in the still air, finally in the open. The archers didn’t even react to the Mad God’s name.

  Pure hate blazed in Kithr’s eyes. “You dare… If you lay one finger on Lyan, I’ll rip out your heart and feed it to the dogs.”

  “Brave words, when you’re the one surrounded and trapped, and I’m the one who knows where your friend is. You want to see him, Kithr? You will. What state he’s in, though, depends on you. My lord is far more imaginative than Vynzent.”

  An involuntary tremor of fear ran though Lyan at Vynzent’s name. Kithr shook with rage.

  “Surrender, Kithr,” Torqual ordered.

  “Where is Lyan?”

  “In a cell, in the dungeon. The same place you’ll be going.”

  Kithr’s narrowed eyes judged the walls, the defenders, and his own chances. “Don’t think I’ll forget your treachery, Tathren.” He laid his bow and quiver on the ground, then his knife, and he stepped from his meager shelter.

  The archers tensed, but none loosed arrows. Torqual spoke, still not visible. “I don’t believe those are all your weapons, Kithr.”

  “Then come get the rest yourself,” Kithr countered.

  “Search him,” Torqual ordered one of the men.

  Praett flowed from the shadows in view of all of them, letting his form shift from human to horse and back as he approached Kithr. “Allow me,” he purred.

  Kithr stiffened, eyes narrow. “You.”

  On the wall, archers and soldiers shuffled uneasily. Murdo’s name hadn’t discomfited them, but Praett did. Torqual spoke sharply, as surprised as the rest, worried by the reactions of his men. “Who and what are you?”

  Praett’s movements were so swift and effortless, he seemed to appear behind Torqual, from the ground to the wall, by magic. “You don’t remember me? A pity… I spend so much time stalking your group along your journey.”

  Torqual spun, blade in hand. Praett’s glowing red eyes held his gaze, and Torqual restrained himself. “You… the pooka.”

  “What did you expect, a dragon? I will take care of this elf.” Praett smirked. “I hope he’ll be as entertaining as his friend.”

  “Playing games?” Torqual sneered.

  Praett continued to smirk. “My games caught the elven Spearbearer. The only thing yours have caught is one fighter, and you wouldn’t have been able to do so without my success.”

  “You have no claim to my prisoner,” Torqual snapped.

  Around him, archers and soldiers edged away from Torqual, casting anxious looks at one another. Praett took a step closer to the Tathren and spoke softly, menace in his voice. “Do not threaten me with boredom unless you wish to become the target for my entertainment, mortal.”

  Torqual seemed to realize, finally, the danger that loomed over him and the pleasure Praett would take in toying with him. He stepped back, stumbling against the wall. “If you let Kithr escape…” he warned.

  “Then you will have the opportunity to catch him again,” Praett responded. “And I won’t interfere if that happens. You know if he gets loose, he’ll come for you first.”

  Torqual locked gazes with the pooka’s glowing red eyes, but the Tathren looked away first. “Let him see Lyan, but don’t put them too close together.”

  “I know my orders.” Praett swept back down to Kithr, who glowered under the wary watch of the archers.

  “Treacherous scum,” Kithr snapped as Praett searched him, confiscating three more blades.

  “Do you mean me, or the Tathren traitor?” Praett asked, leaning close to whisper in Kithr’s ear. “My master watches through my eyes and ordered me to help you.”

  “Did you know this filthy bloodlord was the traitor?” Kithr snarled.

  “Not until my master learned it from the Tathren Spearbearer.”

  “Then I don’t mean you.” Kithr jerked back from Praett, but the monster seized his arms and pinned them behind his back.

  “I thought you wanted to see your little friend,” Praett purred loud enough to be heard by Torqual and the others. “I didn’t hurt him… much.”

  Kithr twisted angrily, but he didn’t break free of the pooka’s hold. “I will return any harm done to him ten times over.”

  “Promises, promises.” Praett bound Kithr’s wrists with a quick twist of cord, collected the weapons from the ground, and pulled the elf along. Kithr stumbled, his injured leg objecting to the abuse. Praett steadied and supported him while appearing to all but drag Kithr through the doorway. Three guards had gathered to block any escape attempt, but they scattered before Praett.

  Everyone’s afraid of you, Lyan observed.

  “I dislike being here, master, and they learned quickly that my methods of entertaining myself came at their detriment,” Praett responded, voice barely audible.

  “What?” Kithr asked, suspicious.

  Praett cast a quick look around to ensure they were alone. “My master addressed me, and I answered. You wish me to take you to him?”

  “Why don’t you ask the mooncalf where he wants me?”

  Tell Kithr the mooncalf can hear him just fine, and I thought he had a plan once he got inside.

  Praett paused, then repeated in a puzzled tone, “My master says the mooncalf can hear you just fine? And he thought you had a plan once you made your way into the keep.”

  Kithr gave a soft, amused snort. Praett pulled him into a secluded hall and released Kithr’s hands. Kithr retrieved a rag from his belt and bandaged his leg. “My plan encountered difficulties when it became obvious a certain Tathren bastard anticipated it. My way isn’t going to work.” Kithr scowled. “I’m predictable. So now it’s your turn. Where do you want me?”

  Lyan thought quickly. “Meet us at the dungeon entrance, if the way is clear.”

  “It will be, master,” Praett promised.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mist in shadows

  Fear no bonds

  Lyan blinked and gulped in a deep breath, awareness returning to his own body and Cailean’s cell. Cailean crouched beside him, face lined with worry. “Lyan? Are you all right?”

  Lyan nodded. The movement made his head throb. “I’m all right, I think. Kithr’s… safer now.”

  “What happened?”

  “Torqual anticipated Kithr, even the route Kithr would take inside, and set a trap.”

  Cailean cursed. “What happened? What did Torqual do? You stopped him?”

  “The pooka intervened. The people here still believe it’s bound to Porephyn and following his orders, and everyone is afraid of it, so they don’t try to argue with it.”

  Cailean stiffened. “The pooka? Lyan, that creature has been chasing and tormenting you since we first met. How can you trust it? Even if you bound it, as… as Ewart’s master did, that doesn’t change its nature.”


  Lyan gazed at Equinox, and spoke quietly. “I didn’t bind it, Cailean. I… made a mistake that has lasting consequences for both me and the pooka. I learned that Nachyne, the god of monsters, must answer when the Spearbearer of Equinox calls on him. Then, when the pooka had separated me from Kithr and attacked me, without thinking my response through… I called on the god of monsters to protect me from a creature of his domain.”

  “Ahebban’s Hammer…,” Cailean whispered, sitting up straighter. “The god of monsters? The one who’s temple we stumbled on? How…? What does he have to do with Equinox?”

  Lyan shook his head. “That’s best explained some other time, Cailean. The result, though, is that the pooka serves me, whether or not it wants to, and unlike the binding a mere mortal can perform, this is permanent.” Lyan paused a moment, then continued. “I… got the impression Nachyne has laws forbidding his monsters from attacking or interfering with the Spearbearers. He was furious, and didn’t care that the pooka had acted under the orders of the one who bound it.”

  Cailean only listened, watching Lyan’s face.

  “Nachyne punished the pooka. The conclusion of that punishment was to bind him to serve me. He isn’t a free creature anymore, Cailean. By the will of his god, the pooka belongs to me.”

  “Punishing the pooka, or punishing you?” Cailean asked with a thin smile.

  “A little of both,” Lyan answered. “But more the pooka than me. Probably.” He slowly climbed to his feet and held his hand to Cailean. “So, I trust he will obey me. Kithr and the pooka are on their way, and will meet us near the dungeon entrance.”

  Cailean slumped wearily against the wall. “What about my men, Lyan?”

  “I have the keys to their cells. I know Porephyn probably has spies near them, but we’ll have to deal with that sooner or later.”

  Cailean gazed at Lyan, not yet taking the offered hand. “Lyan, free my men and meet Kithr. I know I’ll be more hindrance than help right now.”

  Lyan’s face darkened. “Mad God’s Pits, Cailean, I didn’t come here to leave you in this stinking cell. To say nothing of the fact that your men would never agree to a rescue that didn’t include you. I am not leaving here without you. Now get up! Wait too long, and Kithr will come looking for me, and I can assure you, his mood is bad enough already.”

  “Lyan, I’m too weak to be any use to you. You’d be better to go without me.”

  “Horse turds,” Lyan responded flatly. “This is your keep, your home, and you are infinitely more familiar with it than I ever will be. Haven’t you told me often enough knowledge is as valuable as fighting skills? I need your help, Cailean. We need to know the things only the lord of this keep can know.” He caught Cailean’s arm and tried to pull the Tathren to his feet. “And I am not explaining to Aikan why I left you behind, dammit. He dislikes me enough already.”

  Cailean struggled up, getting his feet under him with Lyan’s help. The Tathren panted for breath and winced. “All right. Whatever your plan is, I’ll do what I can. I can’t promise it’ll be much, though.”

  My plan? My plan didn’t extend past getting us all free and reunited. I expected Kithr to take charge after that. Everyone’s depending on… me?

  Lyan offered Cailean his shoulder to lean on. Cailean accepted gratefully, sagging against him. Lyan pushed the cell door open and helped Cailean limp out. The Tathren’s face was drawn with pain.

  Equinox, can you heal Cailean, like you did Praett?

  Braced for another flood of potential answers, Lyan didn’t expecting a “no.” He stared at the Spear in disbelief, feeling almost betrayed. What do you mean, no?

  The Spear struggled to explain through impressions and incomprehensible images before finally resorting to speech. “I can heal you—you are my bearer and I am bound to you. Solstice could heal Cailean, but I cannot.”

  Lyan shook his head. “You healed Praett!”

  “That is different. The pooka is not a mortal, but a creature of magic.”

  “What difference does that make?” Lyan demanded.

  “All the difference,” Equinox answered. “My brother and I are not from this world, and our magic is not part of it. Creatures like the pooka can tolerate foreign magic and survive, albeit uncomfortably. But if I try to heal a mortal other than my bearer, that magic will kill them—even another Spearbearer.” A long pause, then, “Believe me, Lyan. We have tried before. Even magic has rules. Different rules than those you know.”

  “Can you at least numb his pain? Give him strength?” Lyan asked.

  He sensed agreement from Equinox, and a tingle of energy ran down Lyan’s arm. Cailean started and stood a little straighter.

  “Save your strength, Lyan. You’ll need it.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Cailean. You’re the one who’s hurt,” Lyan told him.

  Cailean smiled. “Stubborn elf.”

  “As stubborn as a Tathren,” Lyan agreed. “Come on.”

  Cailean still needed Lyan’s support, but he didn’t limp, and his face regained some color. Lyan listened for guards but heard none, even as they neared the cells that held Cailean’s men. Cautious, Lyan helped Cailean to one wall and motioned for him to stay there. Cailean nodded understanding, watching Lyan continue toward the cells. Both tensed in anticipation of a trap. Lyan moved with all the stealth he could muster.

  He spun round, heart pounding in alarm, when a familiar voice spoke without warning. “Do not fear for guards or spies, Lyan Stargazer. They will not trouble us any longer.”

  Lyan wasn’t the only person the unexpected announcement startled. From Shiolto’s cell, someone scrambled to their feet. “Yion?! You’re all right? What are you talking about? Lyan was taken further into the dungeon… and weren’t you in a different cell?”

  Yion answered, his voice ever calm and steady. “Your concern is appreciated, Shiolto. I am well, and yes, I was given a different cell than this present one. I found it necessary to leave the first in order to remove some hazards from Lyan’s path.”

  Aikan moved to the window of his cell and looked out. The older man fixed his best scowl on Lyan. “You took your time, elf!”

  Lyan shook himself and took a deep breath, wishing his heart didn’t slam against his ribs. “Sorry, Aikan. I’d have been back sooner, but I had to convince Cailean he isn’t going to be a burden.”

  “Lyan?!” Shiolto exclaimed from his cell. “How… What in the gods…?”

  Lyan found the keys Praett gave him and unlocked Aikan’s cell door. “My capture wasn’t what it looked like, Shiolto. The pooka serves me now.”

  “You couldn’t have told us a little sooner?” Shiolto protested.

  Lyan flinched and opened his mouth, but couldn’t make himself justify the deception to his friends.

  “Of course he couldn’t,” Aikan said sharply, opening the cell door slowly and stepping into the hall. “He needed the ruse to last until he found Lord Cailean.” The older man eyed Lyan and hesitated. “It seems I owe you my thanks, Lyan.”

  “You probably shouldn’t thank me until we know whether or not I’ve gotten us all into worse trouble,” Lyan said wryly.

  “No.” Aikan’s voice was firm. “I owe you my thanks, not simply for your actions today. I owe you my thanks and… an apology, if you will have it.”

  Lyan hesitated, then nodded. “You are welcome, Aikan.”

  He opened Shiolto’s cell next. The door groaned open. Shiolto stumbled and barely caught himself. Lyan steadied him and looked at him with concern. “Cailean said you were stabbed. Are you all right, Shiolto?”

  One of Shiolto’s hands strayed to the bandages wrapping his shoulder. “ I’ll be all right, Lyan. Gods know why, but they patched us up before locking us in here.”

  “They did because those were the terms under which Cailean would surrender,” Lyan said.

  Shiolto’s head jerked up. “What? Lord Cailean surrendered? Because of us? But…” He closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded.

 
Lyan moved to the next cell, and found Dalrian inside. Shiolto’s brother had scraped straw into a pile and lay asleep on it. Lyan shook his shoulder.

  Dalrian groaned—voice weak and strained.

  “Dalrian,” Lyan urged. “Wake up.”

  Dalrian’s eyelids fluttered open. “Leave me alone.”

  “Dalrian, it’s Lyan.”

  Another groan, and Dalrian blinked blearily in the dim light. At Lyan’s silent command, Equinox glowed, illuminating the cell. “Lyan? Gods, good to see you… You get the bastard who betrayed Lord Cailean?”

  “Not yet,” Lyan told him. “I had to find all of you first. Can you walk?”

  “If I have to.” Dalrian sat slowly, wincing with each movement. Lyan helped him stand and stumble from the cell.

  Shiolto ran to his brother’s side, draping Dalrian’s left arm over his shoulder and lifted him from Lyan. Lyan looked back down the hall and saw Yion had joined them, a cell door open near him. The mercenary cleaned a sword with a rag, his expression placid. Lyan almost asked where he’d gotten the sword, then decided against doing so. The answer was obvious enough: its previous owner no longer needed it, as he no longer needed the knives now gracing Yion’s belt. Dried blood stained Yion’s clothes a rusty red color. Looking up and seeing Lyan, the mercenary smiled.

  “Well met, Lyan Stargazer. I am glad to see you safe and whole.”

  “It’s good to see you too, Yion. You’re looking better than rumor claimed,” Lyan replied. Yion’s clothes attested to wounds and spilled blood, but Yion himself looked as healthy as Lyan had ever seen him. How did he escape his cell without anyone noticing? What skills does Yion have?

  Yion nodded. “My god was gracious to his unworthy servant, healing me and telling me to await your arrival. When you passed us, I saw the pooka and recognized the nature of its bindings.” He considered Lyan speculatively. “When you have opportunity, I should like to know the full tale of how it lost its freedom.”

  “I already owe the story to Cailean,” Lyan said.

  “Where is Lord Cailean?” Aikan asked pointedly.

  Cailean moved from the thin shadows where he lurked, watching his men. “I’m here.”