Shadow Magic

by Patricia C. Wrede

  “It’s as well that we were this close to shelter, too,” Maurin replied. “None of us are in any condition to be wandering around in that storm.” Suddenly memory hit him, and he sat bolt upright with a cry. “Alethia! She’s still out there!”

  Tamsin’s eyes were sympathetic. “I know,” the minstrel said. “I feel for her, too, but we can do no more. You are the strongest of us, and you barely made it back. Will you kill yourself trying to find her? She is strong and sensible. Perhaps she has found shelter.”

  Maurin collapsed with a groan. “There must be something…” he murmured, but he knew there was not. He did not have enough strength left to haul himself to his feet, let alone face the storm once more.

  The storm raged for two days. The enforced idleness enabled both Maurin and Har to recover somewhat from their injuries, and to regain some of the strength they had lost fighting the blizzard. The guide, however, was still unconscious. His wounds at first seemed light, and the three humans were greatly puzzled, yet it began to seem unlikely that he would survive unless he reached the healers soon.

  This posed a problem. Har wanted to remain where they were, to search for his sister’s body, for it seemed impossible that Alethia could have survived the storm. Maurin, tacitly acknowledged leader of the group now that the Shee was unable to function, agreed to a brief delay while he and Tamsin constructed a litter for the Shee and erected a cairn for Corrim, but he refused to jeopardize the guide’s life by remaining any longer than necessary.

  Finally Har capitulated. It was a subdued and wary group that set out under the leaden skies of the third day after the storm. Har was moodily silent, given to flashes of temper. Maurin rode in silence, absorbing Har’s occasional remarks with the grim indifference of a granite cliff. Tamsin, riding at the rear alongside the litter, found Maurin’s silence more disturbing than Har’s temper, but there was nothing he could do, so he, too, kept silent.

  There was no sign of the mysterious white birds, but that did not keep any of the men from casting surreptitious glances at the mountaintops when they thought the others were not looking. The weather was bitterly cold, and the men wore their clothes in layers to keep warm. The few blankets were bundled around the guide in an effort to ease the jolting of the makeshift litter and provide some warmth to the wounded man.

  Maurin set a slow pace, for the drifts were deep and masked treacherous footing. Several times they had to retrace their steps when snow blocked their passage. At such times Maurin was painstakingly careful not to lose track of their direction. Without a mountain-born guide, to be lost was a certain death sentence.

  On the second day of travel, Maurin began to worry. With all the backtracking they had done he knew that they could not have come far enough to be out of the Kathkari, but he had expected to see signs that they were nearing the edge of the mountain range. When the group stopped for a moment to rest, Maurin scrambled up to a ledge and looked out over the terrain ahead. There was still no sign of an end to the mountains, and Maurin began considering whether to voice his concern to his companions.

  Har forestalled him. “Look there!” the young noble called up to him. “Are those specks travelers or deer? I can’t tell at this distance; you have a better view.” Har pointed through a gap in the trees.

  Maurin squinted in the direction of Har’s finger to where a number of dark shapes were moving against the snow on the valley floor. “If deer carry riders, I’ll eat my saddle. Come on!”

  They picked their way carefully down the mountainside, keeping out of sight in case the other group were Lithmern scouts. By the time they reached the valley floor, the riders were close enough for Maurin to see that they were Shee. With a quiet sigh of relief, he signaled his companions, and the little group stopped and waited.

  “Ho, Maurin!” The foremost of the Shee hailed them. “Har! We had scarcely hoped to find you this quickly, though we came in search of you!” The rider was Jordet, and suddenly Maurin found himself shaking.

  When they did not return his greeting, Jordet’s smile of welcome changed. He looked closely at their faces, and his eyes flew to the litter. “Not Alethia?”

  “No,” Maurin whispered as Jordet rode forward. “I wish it were. Gods, how I wish it were.”

  Chapter 20

  THEY MADE CAMP WHERE they stood. One of the new group was a healer’s apprentice, and Jordet insisted that the man examine all of them, beginning with the guide.

  Though they would not admit it, the others were glad of the chance to stop and rest, and to catch up on the news of the battle preparations. They were surprised that Jordet had ridden out in search of them.

  “We knew that you planned to leave Eveleth five days ago,” he explained. “When the Veldatha felt the blizzard coming they tried to warn you, but they couldn’t reach your guide. Herre and Bracor were worried enough to send us out looking as soon as the storm was over.”

  “What do you mean, felt the storm coming?” Har asked. “I didn’t think the Veldatha did weather-working. Rialla almost took my head the one time I suggested it!”

  “They don’t, as a rule,” Jordet said. “But the Lithmern and the Shadow-born do. This was no natural storm; that’s one reason Herre was so worried.”

  “Was it as bad at Coldwell as it was up here?” Har asked.

  “Worse,” Jordet said with a shudder. “We lost nearly a third of the supplies, and half a dozen people froze to death. Morale isn’t very good, I’m afraid.”

  “Then the Lithmern must know we’re planning to meet them at Coldwell Pass,” Maurin said.

  “I don’t think so,” Jordet said. “They had to build the storm up where their power is strongest; it just happened that Coldwell and the army was right in its path.”

  “Why would they send a storm to block the pass if they are planning to use it?” Har objected. “Unless they know we are there waiting for them.”

  “After what happened at Brenn, the Lithmern must know that the Wyrds and the Shee are involved in this,” Jordet said patiently. “The storm didn’t block Coldwell, but it would have made it almost impossible for any of the Shee troops to reach Brenn for weeks. Fortunately, the wizards and most of the cavalry were already at Coldwell when the storm hit.”

  “Then you expect the Lithmern to attack soon,” Tamsin put in.

  “Less than a week,” Jordet said quietly. “They should reach the pass in three or four days, no more.”

  “Are you sure they don’t know about the ambush?” Har asked again.

  “Positive. The Wyrds captured a scout yesterday, and the head of the Veldatha himself questioned the man under truthtrance,” Jordet replied. “He wasn’t looking for signs of people; he was simply making sure the pass was still open. Which it is, so far.”

  The Shee’s eyes glinted wickedly, and Har looked at him suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, we have a little surprise for them,” was all Jordet would say, and he refused to elaborate. “When we reach the pass you will find out,” he said, and would answer no more of their questions.

  They spent the remainder of the day camped on the valley floor. The healer’s apprentice tended the unconscious Shee, occasionally applying mysterious ointments or potions, while the three humans rested. The next morning Jordet asked him if it was safe to transport the injured man, and the healer only shrugged.

  “It can do him no more harm, I think; and if we can reach Coldwell in time, perhaps someone there may be able to help him. He is beyond my skill.”

  Jordet nodded, and they began breaking camp. It took two more days for them to reach Coldwell Pass. The cold and the drifts slowed their progress despite the expert guidance of the Shee, and they had to stop frequently to tend to the guide. Har was recovering from the initial shock of losing Alethia, though he was far from his old self. Maurin, however, blamed himself for her disappearance, and though he was no longer completely silent, he remained withdrawn.

  Jordet’s first action when they reached the army
was to summon a healer for the injured Shee. That attended to, he sent word to Bracor and Herre of their arrival. He did not speak of Alethia and Corrim, feeling that such news was better given in person.

  Numbers of soldiers, however, had seen them ride in; and all of them could count. Anxious rumors were flying about the camp long before Bracor and Herre arrived. The two leaders were accompanied by Armin, Gahlon, and two men unfamiliar to Maurin. These were presented as the Lords Vander and Marhal, the only other Alkyran nobles who had cared to send help to the group at the pass. Thielen had sent troops as promised, but he himself remained in Wentholm.

  Bracor looked toward his son. “Well?”

  Har looked pleadingly at Maurin, but the Trader refused to meet his gaze. Haltingly, Har explained what had happened. Bracor’s face went gray, and with the barest possible polite murmur he excused himself from the gathering. Har followed him at once, and for a few moments the others stood looking after them.

  “What a pity,” Lord Vander said, breaking the silence. “I hope this will not affect Lord Bracor’s judgment.”

  “Yes,” agreed Marhal with a sidelong glance at Herre. “Such a shock, so soon before a battle…” He let his voice trail off.

  “Perhaps we could assist him,” Vander went on. “I am sure the Lord of Brenn would not object to one of us taking some of the load from his shoulders, and he will certainly want some little time to himself, to be with his family.”

  Armin reddened and started to speak, but Gahlon forestalled him. “Just what did you have in mind, Lord Vander?”

  “Why it occurs to me that a great deal of Lord Bracor’s time is spent making arrangements with the Wyrds and the Shee,” Vander replied. “It may be distressing to him, particularly under the circumstances; I understand the Shee guide is not yet out of danger.”

  “What are you implying?” Armin demanded.

  “But it is obvious!” Marhal said, shaking his head sadly. “Why, no one could fault Bracor for finding it a little difficult to deal with the Shee after this. Not that it was the young man’s fault that his daughter was lost in the storm, of course; still, he was supposed to be guiding the group to safety.”

  “Yes, it almost seems better that one of us should take over that area of Lord Bracor’s duties, at least until the shock has worn off,” Lord Vander said blandly. He turned toward Herre. “Don’t you agree?”

  Herre’s eyes glittered, but he responded, smoothly. “You are all consideration, my lord. I must confess that the difficulties of the situation had not occurred to me in so pressing a light.” Lord Marhal could not repress a smirk of triumph, and the gleam in Herre’s eyes increased.

  “Your offer is a generous one,” the Shee commander went on. “I will be glad to have him appraised of it at once. Jordet!”

  “Here, sir,” Jordet replied promptly.

  “I wish you to take a message to your uncle,” Herre said. “Inform him of the kind offer these gentlemen have made, and tell him that if there is anything we can do to assist him we stand by our duty to our kindred.”

  “At once, commander,” Jordet said, bowing. “It will be my pleasure.”

  The smirk on Lord Marhal’s face vanished instantly, and Lord Vander looked completely taken aback. “No, no,” Vander said hastily. “It would be better to give him time to get over the shock. No need to go at once.”

  “But I thought that the shock was what worried you!” Herre said in mock amazement. “Well, let it be for the moment; I am sure you have other duties to attend to.”

  The two newly come Alkyran lords looked a bit disgruntled at this thinly veiled dismissal, but they did not quite dare to openly challenge one of the legendary Shee. Gahlon looked relieved at the outcome, and Armin grinned openly at Herre as he left. Jordet watched them go, a little smile of amusement playing about his lips. As soon as the lords were out of hearing, the younger Shee gave a low whistle.

  “Gahlon was certainly right about them!” he exclaimed. “They are just looking for a chance to discredit Bracor and take over themselves.”

  “Yes, I noticed that,” Herre said dryly. “I think they had conveniently forgotten that Bracor is the only one of them with family ties among the Shee.”

  “Well, they have been rather forcibly reminded of it,” Tamsin said from the back of the tent. The minstrel came forward, frowning. “I do not mean to presume, commander, but was that wise?”

  “Perhaps not, but those lords will not try to make trouble with me again,” Herre said. “Armin and Gahlon can be trusted to keep them out of mischief until the battle; after that, we will have more leisure to deal with them if necessary.”

  A messenger was sent to Isme the next day. Nothing more could be done. Morale in the army sank to a new low; Alethia had been beloved by her city, and though she was not known to most of the Shee or the Wyrds, the gloom that hung over the Brenn troops infected the others as well. The cold and darkness had already taken its toll; some of the Alkyran soldiers who had not fought at Brenn were already grumbling about the hazards of becoming involved with the Shee.

  The reports of the Wyrd scouts that arrived that afternoon did nothing to mend matters. Now that the Lithmern army was a bare two days away, it became obvious that there were nearly three times as many of the enemy as there were of the Alkyrans and their allies. To add the finishing touch, it was soon certain that the Shadow-born were nearing the point at which the Shee wizards would be unable to contain them. When word of this reached Maurin, the Trader went to seek out Har.

  He found the young noble talking with Jordet and Tamsin. “Hello!” Har called cheerfully as he came within earshot. “Where have you been keeping yourself?”

  “Have you heard Dlasek’s report?” Maurin demanded, ignoring the question.

  “Yes, but it won’t matter,” Har said.

  “Won’t matter! Three times as many men, and the Shadow-born as well? How can it not matter?”

  Har grinned. “Tell him, Jordet.”

  Maurin turned to the Shee and opened his mouth. Hastily, Jordet grasped his arm and pointed down the length of Coldwell Pass. “Look there, and tell me what you see.”

  With a puzzled frown, Maurin turned to stare at the two-mile crack in the mountains that was Coldwell. The sides of the ravine were sheer cliffs, narrowing as they drew toward the eastern end of the pass. At the narrowest point one rock wall curved out and sloped into a ridge that almost blocked the pass completely; behind it the main part of the Alkyran armies could wait in concealment until the last minute.

  “I do not see anything new,” Maurin said. “What is your meaning?”

  “Look up, there,” Jordet said, pointing. Maurin looked. Above the cliff wall rose the side of a huge mountain, crowned with snow.

  “What does that have to do with Lithmern?” Maurin asked impatiently.

  “As it is, nothing,” Jordet replied. “But if it were to conveniently fall as they bring their army through the pass?”

  Maurin’s eyes widened. “It would crush their army. And block the pass forever.”

  Beside him, Tamsin gave a low whistle. “If it works, you will make legends with this battle,” the minstrel said.

  Maurin looked at Jordet with a touch of awe. “You can do this?”

  “Not I,” Jordet disclaimed. “But the Wyrds and the Veldatha have spent a good deal of time up there, and they think it can be done. Two days from now they will be ready.”

  “I hope so.” Maurin said, sobering suddenly. “In two days the Lithmern will be here.”

  “Already?” Jordet frowned. “I had not heard. Pardon me, but I must give this news to Rialla, if she does not know already.” The Shee Ward-Keeper bowed and left, and a few moments later the others followed suit. Maurin was thoughtful for the next two days, and found himself looking more and more frequently at the imposing mountains above the pass as he went about the business of making ready for the coming battle.

  Alethia recovered consciousness slowly. At first she did not know where
she was; then memory flooded back and she tried to sit up and look around. It took three tries. She was terribly weak, and her left arm was almost useless. Blood from the torn shoulder had soaked her sleeve and dried to a hard crust that pulled painfully at the wound whenever she moved.

  She put out her good hand and tried to coax the horse over. Eventually, it came, and she grabbed for the dangling loop of rein. The horse tossed its head, carrying the loop out of reach, and Alethia remembered that she had knotted the reins to keep them from sliding out of her fingers in the cold.

  Gritting her teeth, she lunged upright and caught the reins. She almost screamed aloud with the pain in her shoulder, but at last she had the horse. For a few moments she leaned against the animal’s side, recovering; then she began to undo the buckles that held the saddle in place.

  It took several tries to unfasten the girth; working one-handed was awkward, and Alethia kept jostling her shoulder painfully. Finally it was done, and Alethia gave the saddle a shove and let it crash to the floor of the cave on the opposite side of the horse. The animal jumped and shied, almost knocking her off her feet, but Alethia clung grimly to the reins until it was quiet once more. Then she unfastened the bridle and slipped the bit off. The horse moved away, and Alethia sank gratefully back to the floor of the cave.

  Her next task was to investigate the saddlebags. This was easier; she could remain seated, and the fastenings were not complex, nor were the bags mobile the way the horse was. Alethia quickly found what she was looking for—blankets, water, and food.

  Alethia provided water and grain for her horse before eating her own meal ravenously, then wrapped herself in the blankets and fell almost immediately into the sleep of exhaustion. Hunger woke her, but she stayed awake only long enough to satisfy it, then fell asleep once more.

  When she awoke for the third time, the howling of the wind had stopped. She had no idea how long she had been lying on the floor of the cave. She was still weak, but her strength was no longer dangerously low. The horse was munching mouthfuls of green from the snow-covered bushes that screened the opening of the cave; it did not seem to have suffered from her neglect.