Shadowless

by Randall McNally

I can’t outrun these things, she thought.

  She darted up to the top of a ridge and looked down. A small stream flowed through a gully cut into the forest floor. Without hesitation, she dropped into the gully and began running alongside the stream. Panting, she looked back; the dogs were sliding and skidding down the side of the ridge into the gully. Up ahead she could see a rock wall with water trickling down it. Gripped by fear she ran over to it and began climbing. The algae-covered stones were slippery, her hands were wet and loose stones kept falling down from the rock wall. She was a foot from the top when she heard the dogs snarling below her.

  This is it, she thought.

  ‘There’s something happening over there, I’m telling you,’ a man said.

  ‘Like what?’ another asked.

  Keltarä couldn’t pinpoint where the voices were coming from. Were they Shadow Watchers?

  A dog bit into one of Keltarä’s mining boots, the animal’s teeth seeking but not quite able to puncture the tough leather.

  ‘I’m over here,’ she yelled deciding to take a risk that the voices were not Shadow Watchers. She kicked the dog’s face with her free foot until it let go. ‘Help me.’

  Two men with scarves over their faces looked at her from over the ridge.

  ‘Don’t just stand there, pull me up,’ Keltarä shouted.

  Grabbing an arm each, the men pulled Keltarä to safety. She used her hands to wipe algae from her cotton tunic, pushed back her auburn hair then mopped the sweat from her brow.

  ‘That was close. Thank’s for the help,’ she said, turning away from the men who were dressed in drab green clothing.

  ‘Wait. Where are you going?’ the first man to have spoken asked.

  ‘Away from here before those dogs find a way up,’ she said breaking into a run.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he asked, trying to keep pace with her.

  ‘You don’t need to know my name,’ she said over her shoulder, her voice husky.

  ‘That’s all you’ve got to say to us?’ he demanded.

  ‘Like I said, thank’s for the help.’

  ‘Don’t you even want to know the names of your rescuers?’

  Keltarä stopped and turned around then put her hands on her hips.

  ‘No,’ she snapped. ‘Honestly, I’m not even interested. The only thing I want to do is get out of here, before the owners of those dogs appear.’

  ‘Then we’ll introduce ourselves: I’m Salcroft; this is Vholmir.’

  ‘Wait, why are you wearing scarves over your faces? Are you going to rob me?’ Keltarä demanded.

  ‘Why? Do you have anything worth taking?’

  Keltarä pulled off both men’s scarves.

  The men looked at each other, seemingly surprised by Keltarä’s boldness. In contrast to Keltarä’s pale, unblemished complexion and high cheekbones that gave her a look of nobility, they were ruddy faced with greying stubble and looked generally unkempt.

  ‘We live in the forest,’ Vholmir stated. ‘Outside the rules of the law.’

  ‘I think the word you are looking for is “outlaw”,’ Keltarä said. ‘I can see now why you wear scarves over your faces. Anyway, great meeting both of you. This will definitely be a tale for the campfire.’

  ‘What should we do?’ Vholmir asked, as he watched Keltarä turn and walk into the forest.

  ‘Follow her,’ Salcroft said. ‘I’ve got a feeling there’s more to this girl than meets the eye.’

  Keltarä moved swiftly through the woods, back in the direction of the caravans. Every so often, she glanced behind her to see Salcroft and Vholmir following her at a distance.

  She worried at first that they might rob the caravans if she led them back, but in the end decided that the ten-strong mining crew should be able to overpower two outlaws.

  Keltarä emerged from the treeline, eager to get back to her crew. She stood aghast, her eyes welling up, when she saw the dead bodies strewn about the campsite. Each miner bore slash marks from a sword or puncture wounds from a crossbow bolt.

  ‘Why?’ Keltarä muttered. ‘How could they have possibly known?’

  She ran to her caravan. The dresser was empty. Her diary had gone. She dropped to her knees and began sobbing.

  ‘How could I have been so stupid?’ she cried.

  She heard voices: Salcroft and Vholmir, and went outside. The former had a pick and was breaking up the ground by the side of the woodland trail; the latter was shovelling the loose earth to the side.

  ‘What do you think you are doing?’ she asked, drying her tears on one of her sleeves.

  ‘Helping you bury these men before the people who killed them come back.’

  The three of them set about cleaning the men, one at a time and as best they could, before wrapping them in sheets and preparing them for burial.

  ‘This one has a ring that looks like it’s made from gold, Salcroft. Surely we’re not burying it with him?’ Vholmir asked.

  Upon hearing this Keltarä marched over to the outlaws, her face puce with anger.

  ‘These men’s personal effects are getting buried with them.’

  She glared at Vholmir and clenched her teeth.

  ‘Agreed,’ Salcroft said. ‘We’re outlaws not grave robbers.’

  ‘Of course,’ Vholmir said, more than a hint of embarrassment showing on his face.

  Keltarä bent down and apologised to each of the dead miners, murmuring prayers before helping Salcroft lower him into the ground. When it came to Jenkat she whispered into his ear before tying the ends of the sheet.

  ‘Thank you for helping raise and protect me. I would have never survived this long had it not been for your kindness. When many would have treated me like an outcast you treated me like a daughter. I’m so sorry, Jenkat, that my curse cost you and your men their lives.’

  The light was fading as Jenkat and the last of the miners were buried. When it was done Keltarä sat on the step of her caravan staring blankly at the graves.

  ‘What will you do now, Keltarä?’ Salcroft was wiping the sweat from his head and neck as he spoke.

  Keltarä shrugged.

  ‘You could come with us,’ Vholmir suggested.

  ‘I’m not an outlaw.’

  ‘Right now you’re not a miner either.’

  ‘It’s my fault the crew are dead. The men who did this have to pay,’ Keltarä said.

  ‘How?’ Salcroft asked. ‘See reason, Keltarä. You’re one girl against how many men? You couldn’t even fight off those dogs, what chance do you stand against the men who did this?’

  Keltarä sat in silence.

  ‘The men who did this weren’t after the miners, were they? They were after you.’

  ‘How…?’

  ‘I looked for your shadow after we pulled you from the gorge. I couldn’t see it. So what is your power?’

  ‘I can pull metal towards me,’ Keltarä stated. ‘My mother and her husband were miners. I was born over a century ago and I’ve spent most of my life underground, hiding from the Shadow Watchers. My mother died bringing me into the world and her husband abandoned me soon after.’

  ‘Were these men happy to look after you?’ Vholmir asked.

  ‘When they found out that they had a little girl who could rip metal from a rock-face faster than a hundred miners, then yeah, you could say they were happy.’

  Salcroft looked at Vholmir in silence for a minute; his friend nodded.

  ‘Come back to our hideout,’ Salcroft said. ‘What have you got to lose?’

  He has a point, Keltarä thought. There is no way I can go after the Shadow Watchers alone.

  She gathered the rest of her clothes and what little money she had, some food and cooking utensils. When they had taken some supplies from the other caravans the three of them walked back into the forest.


  It was late afternoon and both Sir Cobá and his horse were weary from travelling, having set out at first light. They were three-and-a-half weeks into a month-long journey to the city of Dolasie. Sir Cobá had been the most trusted messenger-knight in the realm of Caulderon for over twenty-five years, travelling the length and breadth of the Northern Realms to run errands and carry news for Queen Dayrlaríss and the Cavenná royal family. He had relayed the information of the imminent attack by Vostarák that stopped Termiline being caught off-guard and allowed its army the time to prepare its defences.

  He had also delivered the message that ended the war between Shokrill and Kaldenheim, bringing over one hundred years of hostilities to an end. Thus, when news had circulated that a plague had broken out in the town of Pinedale in Pholôs, and that the apothecaries in Dolasie had a possible cure, there was only one person in the realm that the queen trusted enough to retrieve it.

  Summer was giving way to autumn in Druid’s Wood, sycamore seeds spiralling through the trees, yet it was still hot and humid. Sir Cobá reached under his white surcoat for his water-skin and took a gulp before dabbing water on his forehead and neck.

  He heard the sound of running water and decided to find it and make camp. The water would be a welcome relief to ease the soreness from his chafing armour.

  As he trotted towards the stream, Sir Cobá heard the sound of horses galloping. Looking back, he saw four figures on horseback dressed in brown leather armour and with scarves over their faces thundering towards him.

  Bandits.

  Sir Cobá dug his heels into his steed’s hindquarters. His horse reared and took off, making him hang on tightly as it galloped along the narrow winding path. Sir Cobá began to look for a route that would allow him to go deeper into the woods.

  Up ahead, a cloaked figure stepped from behind the bough of a tree. Spurring on his horse, he dropped his head to avoid low-hanging branches as his steed bolted through the woods. Suddenly something pulled him from his mount, sending him crashing to the ground while his horse ran on. Pulling open the clasp on his ripped surcoat, he cast it to one side and hauled himself to his feet.

  The four on horseback had slowed to a canter and the cloaked one who had stepped out from behind the tree walked towards him.

  Sir Cobá bent over, trying to catch his breath. The fall had winded him.

  He drew his sword and pulled down the visor on his helm, as the horsemen surrounded him.

  ‘Put down your sword. You can’t defeat us all.’

  ‘No, but if I am going to die then I am going to make sure I kill some of you first,’ he panted.

  One of the men turned to the cloaked figure.

  ‘You hear that? He said he’s going to kill some of us.’

  The cloaked figure stepped forward and reached out its hand. Sir Cobá’s sword was pulled from his grasp. It flew through the air before being grabbed by the cloaked figure.

  ‘What the hell?’ Sir Cobá muttered. ‘What witchcraft is this?’

  Plunging the sword into the ground, the figure pulled back the hood of the cloak to reveal the face of a young woman. She had auburn hair and dark-brown eyes. She did not have a shadow.

  ‘Kill us with what, exactly?’ she demanded.

  Keltarä sat in front of the fire, running a whetstone down the blade of her sword. The cave was cold and damp, with an incessant sound of water dripping from the ceiling. Hearing footsteps in the tunnel, she stood.

  A fair-haired woman in her early thirties entered the cave. Like Keltarä she was wearing men’s clothes which had been stitched together and patched up from several different items.

  ‘You’re going to want to see this,’ she proclaimed.

  ‘What is it, Melastra?’

  ‘Come and see for yourself.’

  Sheathing her sword, Keltarä walked behind Melastra along the dark tunnels of the abandoned mine where their gang had taken up residence three years ago. They made their way down narrow passageways and shafts until they emerged into a well-lit, spacious antechamber. The knight’s saddle bag and weapons had been stacked at the entrance.

  The leader of the group, Salcroft, and Hactes, a tall thin man, were sitting at a wooden table while Vholmir was preparing supper. Sitting close to the stove was Jachlôn, the youngest member of the gang, wrapped in a tattered blanket, she was coughing as the two women walked in.

  Keltarä walked to the water barrel and filled a cup, taking it to Jachlôn. She rubbed the young girl on the back and pulled the blanket up tighter against her.

  ‘Thank you,’ Jachlôn croaked.

  Keltarä smiled warmly at Jachlôn before turning her attention to the rest of the gang.

  ‘What was it you wanted me to see?’

  ‘We took an inventory of everything the knight had,’ Hactes announced. ‘A sword, a shield, half-plate armour, basic camping equipment, two weeks’ worth of trail rations… and this.’ He indicated a bag on the table.

  Keltarä loosened the leather straps of the bag and looked inside it. She had never seen so much money.

  ‘Six hundred,’ Salcroft said. ‘Hactes and I both counted it: twice.’

  ‘No one in their right mind carries this amount of gold. What was it going to be used for?’ Keltarä asked.

  ‘The knight said it was to prevent the people of Caulderon from catching the plague.’

  ‘If he is telling the truth then I guess that’s bad luck for the people of Caulderon,’ Keltarä said. ‘What did you do with the knight?’

  ‘We put him on his horse and sent him back the way he came,’ Vholmir said, stirring a pot on the stove.

  ‘What should we do with it, Salcroft?’ Melastra queried. ‘This is a once-in-a-lifetime find.’

  ‘Let’s buy a tower,’ Hactes said.

  ‘No, we should buy magical swords,’ Vholmir said.

  ‘Hold on,’ Salcroft snapped. ‘Before we get carried away with towers and magical swords, there’s something we need to consider; people don’t just get this amount of gold taken from them and accept it. This knight could return, with reinforcements.’

  ‘What’ll we do with it then?’

  ‘How about getting some medicine?’ Keltarä stated. ‘Jachlôn has been ill for over a week now, and she’s not getting any better.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Salcroft said. ‘There are lots of things we need: medicine, clothes that fit, proper blankets, trail rations.’

  ‘You want us to spend six hundred gold pieces on quilts and bread?’ Hactes asked.

  ‘I’m only saying, this is a vast amount of money. It should be used sparingly on equipment and provisions that are vital to our existence, and the rest safely hidden until we need it.’

  ‘Salcroft’s right,’ Melastra said. ‘Most of the money should be buried and only used when we’re running low on essentials.’

  Hactes sighed.

  Vholmir divided up the meal of stale bread and meat-free stew, putting a bowl on the table for everyone before giving Jachlôn hers beside the stove.

  ‘This is what we’ve been dreaming about,’ Hactes said. ‘We’ve done nothing but talk about making this much money since we turned our backs on society and its law-makers.’

  ‘Look at what we’re eating,’ Salcroft snarled. ‘When’s the last time any of us ate meat? We need substantial food and Jachlôn needs medicine. Winter is coming and some of us don’t even have clothes that fit. I won’t let this money be squandered.’

  Salcroft untied the bag straps. Some of the gold pieces slid onto the table.

  ‘Anyone who disagrees can take their share of the money and go it alone, no one’s going to stop you,’ he said in a stern tone.

  There was silence. The other members of the gang looked from one to another, eager to see if anyone would take Salcroft up on his offer.

  Keltarä had never seen Salcroft i
ssue an ultimatum. He had been the leader since Keltarä joined the gang two years ago and she had always found him just and fair, as well as calm.

  ‘Fine,’ Hactes said. ‘We use it sparingly.’

  ‘Vholmir, take twenty gold pieces and make the trip to Oylésoak tomorrow,’ Salcroft said. ‘Melastra, make a list of the things we need and ready Vholmir’s horse first thing.’

  Salcroft rose and left the room, taking his food. Keltarä caught up with him in the corridor.

  ‘Are you all right? You got a bit riled in there.’

  ‘One lucky haul and they want to buy towers and god knows what else,’ Salcroft said, rubbing his head. ‘Tell me, Keltarä, if you were me, what would you do with the money?’

  ‘Funny you should ask, I was just thinking: what if the knight wasn’t lying? Stealing from rich merchants is one thing, but taking money destined to buy a cure for the plague? We could be responsible for the deaths of thousands of people.’

  ‘What about our survival?’ Salcroft said. ‘This money could set us up for life.’

  ‘I know one thing; if someone had stolen that amount of money from me, I would be doing everything in my power to get it back.’

  Keltarä woke to hear Melastra calling her name. She sat up, pushing down the deerskin pelts under which she slept.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Get up,’ Melastra shouted. ‘Salcroft wants to talk to everyone.’

  Keltarä hurriedly got dressed. She could hear Melastra calling to the others. By the time she walked down the corridor to the living chamber the others were already there, arguing.

  ‘The gold’s gone,’ Melastra explained excitedly when she saw Keltarä. ‘Hactes and Vholmir have taken it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Vholmir hasn’t taken anything,’ Salcroft stated. ‘He was given the list, along with twenty gold pieces, and he left. I watched him go. I went to feed the horses soon after and that’s when I realised that Hactes’s horse is missing.’

  ‘Tell them about the money,’ Melastra barked.

  ‘I’m just about to,’ Salcroft said calmly. ‘When I saw that his horse was missing the first thing I did was check the money. It’s gone, all of it.’