Plague of Shadows

by Michael Wisehart

  “It was during one of those trips that everything changed. I was fourteen, which made Viena . . .” She had to stop and think. It had been so long. “Eleven. We had only been in Ecrin for a day. Viena had asked Father to stop for a honey tart, one of her favorite things to eat. She always licked the honey off before eating the dough, which irritated Father to no end because she’d usually get half of it on her face.” The smile slid from her face. “I remember we had just left the vendor and were on our way to the dress shop when the fighting started.

  “The Black Watch was chasing a man through the open market.” She could see it coming to life in front of her. She could remember every detail—the smell of the blueberry tart in her hand; the sound of people shopping, bumping up against her as they passed; the warm sun on her face. She looked at Joren. “We just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  Joren’s eyes narrowed as he listened, his expression making it clear that he knew where her story was going.

  “We tried getting out of the way, but the man they were chasing grabbed Viena, using her as a shield. I remember he had a durma collar around his neck, which at the time meant nothing to me, but now I know it was why he had a knife pressed to Viena’s throat instead of fighting back with magic. My father begged him to let her go, but the wielder didn’t listen. The Watch demanded he release her, but he kept saying that if they didn’t leave, he was going to kill her.

  “They didn’t leave.” Lenara turned her head and wiped the unexpected tears from her cheeks. “That was the day I discovered my own magic. It was also the day I took my first life.”

  Joren raised his hand. “You don’t need to—”

  “Yes,” she said, surprising herself. “I do.”

  She hadn’t realized how much pain she had held inside, but now that it had broken free, she didn’t want to hold it in any longer. She couldn’t fight back the tears, so she let them come. “The man was cornered. He knew there was nowhere to run, so he made good on his word and slit Viena’s throat and tossed her body in the street.”

  The memory of the look of horror on her sister’s face was so vivid, it had Lenara squeezing her fists to the point that her nails dug into her palms. “The man was probably hoping to slow the guards down long enough to escape, but he didn’t get the chance. Something broke inside me.” She put her hand to her chest. “I remember the heat. It was like a fire burning from the inside out. Without even realizing what was happening, I screamed, and the man flew across the street and hit the side of one of the buildings. His head had been completely caved in, ribs poking through his chest. It was like I had smashed a bug.”

  She looked at Joren, afraid of what she might see in those brown eyes. But instead of disgust, she found sympathy, and instead of hatred, sorrow. It was a look she could have lived in, a look she hadn’t received from another living soul since that day in Ecrin. She started to cry all over again, a burden somehow lifting off her shoulders.

  Joren put his arm around her, and she found herself burying her head in his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

  The tears finally stopped, but she didn’t want to pull away from his embrace.

  “I guess the guards took you with them?”

  She lifted her head and wiped her eyes, taking a moment to compose herself. “I was in too much shock to realize what was happening. The only thing I remember was my father clutching Viena in his arms. In fact, I don’t remember much of anything until arriving at the Tower.”

  Joren shook his head. “Your father lost two daughters in one day. I can’t imagine.” There was a moment’s pause before he spoke again. “Have you ever gone back?”

  She shook her head. There had been times when she had thought about going back. Wondered if her parents were still alive. Whether they had started a new family. Did she have other brothers or sisters out there that she didn’t know about? She had always promised herself she’d go back one day, but she never did.

  “How did you end up becoming . . .” Joren pointed at her black bulradoer robes.

  A guard at one of the other fires turned over, and she scooted to the left, putting a little more distance between her and Joren. “I begged them to let me help them find wielders. Given my strength as a vanti, former Archchancellor Bezaleel allowed me to train with the other bulradoer.”

  “And you’ve been doing it ever since?”

  She nodded, yawning once again. “I think I’ve had about as much emotion as I can take for one evening.” She needed the sleep, and as much as she had come to enjoy her talks with Joren, she had to try keeping their reason for being out there in focus. She had a job to do. She couldn’t let feelings—if she could even call them that—get in the way. Besides, she never knew when Sylas was going to reappear.

  Joren nodded. “It might be a while before I’m back. Take care of yourself.” He stood and walked back to his bedroll on the opposite side of the fire and lay down.

  She’d never had anyone worry about her before. Other than her parents, of course. She watched Joren through the flames as he lay there staring at the stars, before finally crawling into her own blankets and closing her eyes.

  She woke to the sound of shuffling feet and whispers.

  It was still dark. Was it time to break camp? It took her a moment for her mind to come fully awake. A nervous tingling sensation had her pulling down her blanket, just far enough to peek out.

  A small group of men were heading into the woods.

  She threw her blanket off and sat up. The fire farthest from hers was empty. The one Ensle had been at. Great, she thought. Now what is he up to? She turned and looked across the fire, debating whether or not to wake Joren.

  His bed was empty as well.

  She hopped to her feet, heart racing. They’d come for him.

  Quickly, she headed into the woods after them. She heard voices in the distance. All she could think was they were going to slit his throat just like her sister’s. She ran, not caring whether she could see where she was going or not, the low-hanging branches cutting her face.

  Someone screamed.

  No! I’m too late!

  Three or four more screams broke through the trees, followed by what sounded like barking or growling, then more screaming. What in Aldor is going on?

  She burst into a small clearing and drew one of her ter’aks, its red flames searing the ground at her feet, lighting the horrific scene in front of her.

  Joren stood in the middle of a small clearing. He wasn’t moving. She didn’t see any blood. On the right, four of the guards were being ripped apart by a pack of wolves. The last man standing managed to stab one, but a second used the distraction to leap up and sink its fangs into the man’s neck. He went down gurgling.

  Ensle was on the left side of the clearing, sword drawn, trying to fend off a mountain bear. He was backed against a tree. He only managed to clip the enormous grizzly in the side before it caught his arm in its powerful jaws and ripped it from his body.

  Ensle screamed and went down. A single swipe from the grizzly’s paw, and the screaming stopped.

  Silence fell across the glen as the animals turned and headed back into the forest.

  Heavy booted feet came crashing through the trees behind her as the rest of the guards charged in, swords drawn. They stopped at the edge of the clearing just as she had, no one daring to enter.

  Sylas turned and looked at them. “Don’t ever question my authority again,” he said, then walked back into camp.

  Chapter 50 | Ayrion

  THE EARLY-MORNING SUN was shining, its light bringing with it a sense of hope.

  After traveling from one small town to the next along the western side of Virn Run—a slow-moving river that snaked its way through the hillside—Ayrion was relieved to spend a day back inside the former rover camp. It was not filled with the sounds of music and dancing and stories as Tameel had said were typical of the colorfully clad nomads. Instead, the air was stale wi
th a somber quietness as the plainly dressed wood folk from at least six outlying villages gathered around the firepits, sharing furtive glances and passing idle chatter as they waited for whatever was going to happen next.

  Finding volunteers to join their cause had been easier than Ayrion anticipated, especially given their initial welcoming. Of course, the fact that their caravan carried with it the remaining survivors of Saeida helped spur people to action.

  Shade whinnied from his pen on the left side of the camp, drawing Ayrion’s attention. Ayrion had been relieved when the warhorse had returned. He had opened the tavern door the next morning to see if the creatures had gone and found Shade standing there, waiting patiently for his apple. Zynora had managed to heal the deepest of the horse’s wounds, letting the rest mend on their own.

  As Ayrion passed through the camp on his way to talk to his old friend, he noticed new faces. More recruits were arriving every day. Most simply stared at his black leathers, twin swords, and grey eyes. The survivors from Saeida, however, nodded their heads or raised a glass to show their appreciation.

  Belvin had apparently been the central city for this part of Sidara. It was surrounded by a network of towns and villages that stretched some forty miles north and south along the river. From Bek’s description of Belvin and its size, it sounded as though they were going to need every able body they could find. Unfortunately, they didn’t have time to wait for word to reach the farthest of the outlying communities, and the vulraaks had already taken those towns closest to Belvin.

  Ayrion offered his giant friend one of the red apples he had stashed away in his jacket pocket. He rubbed Shade’s ears and turned to take stock of their troops. Not much to look at, he thought. Most seemed dominated by either fear or anger, though both emotions, if nurtured correctly, could be useful in a fight.

  Fear, although at times debilitating, kept people sharp, vigilant, watchful for an enemy they expected to arrive at any moment. Anger, on the other hand, was a little more dangerous to work with, as it tended to drive people to action without forethought. Either way, Ayrion knew he had his work cut out for him.

  Ayrion left Shade and started for the back of the camp, where Bek was talking with Abiah. He wanted to see if the scouts Bek had sent out the previous night had returned.

  “Gotcha!”

  Ayrion turned to find Taylis kneeling beside the bottom half of a fallen tree. He was staring at something in the dirt. “What have you got there?”

  The young rover boy flapped his arm at Ayrion. “No. Not there. Move over.”

  “What?”

  “You’re in my light.” Taylis continued motioning, so Ayrion obliged by taking a couple of steps to the right. “There. Right there’s fine,” he said.

  Ayrion stared at the small patch of ground Taylis was looking at. “What’s going on? Are you testing those tracking skills Master Bek’s been teaching you?”

  “No,” Taylis said without further explanation. He glanced over his shoulder at the position of the sun and then back at the small reflective object he held between his hands.

  “What do you have there?”

  “My crawly-killer.”

  “Your what?”

  “My crawly-killer,” he said with a hint of irritation.

  “You don’t say. And what exactly is a . . . crawly-killer?”

  Taylis glared up at him with a look that said he couldn’t believe Ayrion would ask such a silly question. “It kills crawlies, of course.”

  Ayrion knelt to get a better look. There was a small pile of black birch beetles lying off to the side, most of which seemed to be upside down, their legs unmoving. “And what did these crawlies do to deserve such an end?”

  “They get into the flour,” he said, “and the fruit. They’ll even get in your bed if you aren’t watching. Mama told me I should kill them wherever I find them.

  “I guess that makes sense,” Ayrion said, scratching his head. “So, how does it work?”

  Taylis huffed. “Like this.” He flipped the broken piece of glass over, and the reflection from the sun hit Ayrion in the face.

  Ayrion raised his hand to protect his eyes, but not before he was seeing spots. “Sorry I asked.” As sensitive as his eyes were, it took a moment for his vision to return.

  Taylis angled his crawly-killer back toward one of the slow scurrying bugs and watched as the sun’s light passed through the glass shard. The bug’s thick shell began to smoke. Pretty soon, it too was on its back, legs in the air.

  Ayrion wasn’t sure if he should be impressed by the ingenuity or worried about the little boy’s state of mind.

  Behind him, a wagon door slammed shut, and he heard the patter of little feet rushing in his direction. “Ayrion.”

  Before he had a chance to fully turn, he was attacked by a flying creature with long brown hair and a bright yellow bow. Marissa’s arms wrapped firmly around his waist.

  Ayrion lifted the little rover girl the rest of the way into his arms. She smiled. Either she was surprisingly oblivious to the danger they were facing, or she had a remarkable gift for keeping a positive spirit. Ayrion only wished she had enough of that optimism to pass on to the rest of the encampment.

  “You like my bow?” she asked, patting the top of her head and flattening the ribbon in the process.

  Ayrion smiled. “I do,” he said, fluffing one of the big loops. “It’s a very beautiful bow, almost as beautiful as you.” He finished by tapping the tip of her nose with his finger.

  Her smile grew even wider as she puckered her lips and planted a soft peck on his cheek. “Eww!” She scrunched her face and wiped the front of her mouth. “Your hair is prickly.”

  Ayrion rubbed the sides of his face. “Hmm. I do need a shave, don’t I?” Her head bobbed up and down. “I guess I better get to that, then. Can’t be seen escorting such a pretty young lady with a scruffy face, now, can I?”

  Her head shook in a resounding no.

  Postponing his talk with Bek temporarily, Ayrion managed to get a quick shave in, with Marissa there to make sure he didn’t miss any stray hairs. Once satisfied, she kissed his cheek and headed back to the wagon, leaving Ayrion free to meet with the others. He found the big trapper still on the outskirts of camp, talking with a couple of men who had apparently just ridden in.

  Tameel stood off to the side, chatting with Abiah about something. Sounded like food supplies.

  The scouts finished delivering their report to Bek and bowed deferentially to Ayrion as they walked by. One even went so far as to raise a fist to his chest in salute.

  Rumors had spread quickly. The black warrior, atop his black steed, facing down an entire horde of white monsters. It was a story that seemed to grow with each new telling.

  Ayrion didn’t care for the attention and would have much preferred they stop, but Tameel and Zynora had convinced him otherwise, encouraging him to sell the pretense. “They’re looking for someone to lead them,” they said. “And you’re it.”

  “What did our scouts have to say?” Ayrion asked, stopping alongside Abiah, who abruptly ended his conversation with Tameel to see what Bek had to say.

  “It seems most everything this side of Belvin is fairly quiet. The city’s been abandoned, at least during the day. The scouts couldn’t find a soul. They checked a few of the outer residences before heading into the heart of the city. There was no sign of the vulraaks—”

  “Apart from the destruction left in their wake,” Abiah added, his arms resting atop his bulging midriff.

  “We expected as much,” Tameel said. “We know they don’t care much for sunlight. No doubt they’re holed up in some dark place, just waiting for night to arrive so they can proceed with their savaging.”

  “That would be the mines,” Bek said. “Northeast of town. If I was looking for a dark place to make camp, that’s where I’d be.”

  “Aye,” Abiah concurred. “No place darker.”

  “Then that’s where we’ll look first,” Ayrion said. �
��Strike the nest, hard and fast. Take out Argon as quickly as possible. Hopefully, us going in there and facing them head-on will be the last thing they’d expect.”

  “Yeppers,” Tameel said, tugging on the sash at his waist. “I would say charging into a monster’s stronghold with a band of untrained, unprepared, and barely armed townsfolk would most definitely be the last thing they would ever expect.”

  “Just hearing you say it aloud makes me question my own sanity,” Abiah said with a groan.

  Tameel glanced at the others. “How much longer do we wait?”

  “We can’t wait for long,” Bek said, fingering a large knife. “Each day, they swallow a new town. The only benefit is that we’ve managed to stay ahead of their growth for now, helping people to clear out before the creatures arrive. But we can’t keep this up forever. We already have more people displaced than we know what to do with. Even with the provisions they’re bringing with them, it won’t be enough to last, especially with the first snow looming.”

  “Aye,” Abiah said, rubbing the thin patch of hair on top his head. “It gets mighty cold during the winter months. Without proper shelter, we’re gonna start losing as many people to the weather as we do to those white monsters. Then again, with our ranks growing every day, the pragmatist in me wants to wait until we have a larger force before going toe to toe with whatever is waiting for us in Belvin.”

  Ayrion could understand the hesitance. He would much rather face Argon with a stronger force behind him as well, especially considering their army’s lack of proper training. But Bek was right; they couldn’t wait for long—the ground was already frosting at night, and he was sure snow was on its way.