Plague of Shadows

by Michael Wisehart

  “I hear you made quite the exit during your assembly this morning,” he said with a wry smile. “I believe there are people still standing in line, wondering whether you will return.”

  “And where were you?” Dakaran asked, taking another gulp of his drink. The lingering ache in his head suddenly eased, and he looked in his glass. He’d have to remember to use more of the red wine in the morning, apparently.

  “I apologize, Your Majesty,” his advisor said as he crossed the room, “but I had pressing business in town.”

  “More pressing than serving at your king’s behest?”

  Valtor smiled, offering a deep bow. “I would not have missed it otherwise, Your Majesty.”

  There was another knock on the door.

  Dakaran leaned to see past his advisor. “Come.”

  Fernon stuck his head in, and Dakaran motioned for him to enter, one of the guards following his attendant in.

  “Well?” Dakaran asked. “What did my mother have to say?”

  The guard cleared his throat. “The Queen Mother sends her apologies, Your Majesty, but appears to be suffering from a bout of dizziness.”

  “Dizziness? I suffer from that every day, but you don’t see me shirking my duties.” He wanted to throw his goblet, but he hadn’t finished what was inside yet. He also didn’t want to listen to another scolding from his advisor. “Fine. Let my mother know I hope the spell is short-lived.”

  He hoped she suffered extensively and passed it along to Amarysia.

  Fernon bowed and ushered the guard out the door, closing it behind him.

  Dakaran looked at Valtor. “You look like you have something to say, and that I’m not going to like it.”

  Valtor smirked. “How very perceptive of you, Your Majesty. As it happens, I do have news. It appears as though the overlord of Sidara has issued a summons to convene a council of the Provincial Authority.”

  “I’ve received no such summons.”

  “Apparently, the topic of conversation is you.”

  “How could they be meeting without my knowledge?”

  “It appears to be a secret council.”

  “Then how did you find out about it?”

  “I have my ways,” he said. “From what I gather, they are upset with your decision to bring Cylmar under Elondrian rule.”

  “I don’t care what they’re upset about. I’m the king. I don’t need their permission.”

  Valtor shifted his feet, resting his weight on that ugly wolf-head staff of his. “All the same. I warned you there would be repercussions for such a bold action.”

  Dakaran waved it off. “Even in its depleted state, we still have the largest army in the five kingdoms. I don’t think we have much to worry about.”

  Valtor’s lips tightened. “There is always something to worry about. That’s part of what being a leader is. We might have the largest army of any single kingdom, but not if those kingdoms decide to join forces.”

  Dakaran pursed his lips. That was a troubling thought. He took another sip from his cup, and his head felt clearer. “Then how should we respond?”

  “Swiftly, Your Majesty. Which is why I have taken the liberty of putting something into place that will assure us a favorable outcome.”

  Chapter 75 | Ayrion

  NEVER HAD THE DREARY grey of a coming dawn taken so long to arrive.

  Ayrion watched from the second-floor battlement as the last of the vulraaks retreated toward the mines. Thankfully, the creatures’ assault against the doors had been unsuccessful. With a heavy sigh of relief, he headed across the balcony to study the map of Belvin once more. Bek, Tameel, and Abiah soon joined him.

  “We won’t last another night,” Bek said.

  “I’m surprised we’ve lasted this long,” Ayrion said, shading his eyes. The first rays of dawn were now poking through the windows and hitting him in the face.

  “Many of us didn’t,” Tameel said, limping back to the railing behind them and looking down at the healing station below. Tameel had taken a bad tumble down the stairs earlier that evening, and since Zynora couldn’t afford to waste any magic on less-severe injuries, he had to make do with a simple wrap.

  “Our numbers are dwindling fast, General,” Abiah said, holding a cloth to a cut on his arm just below the shoulder.

  “Aye,” Bek agreed. “The number of dead and injured have tripled after last night.”

  Ayrion joined Tameel at the rail and stared down at the rows of covered bodies below. The battle had taken a lot out of them. Even though they were behind stone walls, Ayrion and his fighters had spent the rest of the night at the second-floor windows, repelling ladders the vulraaks had brought with them from the mines.

  It had been sheer determination, or perhaps desperation, that had kept them alive and fighting as long as they had. Bek was right: there was no way they would survive another night.

  All eyes were on Ayrion, awaiting direction from their fearless leader.

  Ayrion, however, had plenty of fears. He feared that what they were attempting was a hopeless cause. He feared he had let his friends down, and that all these good people he had persuaded to take up arms and fight were going to die for nothing. He was also afraid of what would happen to the rest of Aldor if Argon were free to continue spreading his plague. It was this fear, above all else, that kept his mind racing, fighting to come up with an answer, a solution that could bring about a tipping point.

  But nothing came.

  Ayrion pushed back the flaps of his black coat and leaned over the table, squinting at the harsh sunlight flooding the room. “I won’t lie. I don’t have an answer. We tried a direct approach on the mines and failed, losing good men and women in the process. We managed to hold out the night against impossible odds, but short of an act from the Creator, I don’t see that repeating itself.”

  “What are you saying?” Abiah asked, his voice tinged with anger. “Are you suggesting we give up? I’m not leaving until every last one of these faerie-spawned creatures is sent back to the abyss. My Willem will be avenged.”

  Ayrion straightened. “What I’m saying is I only see three options here. Either we fall back to the encampment and spend the next month trying to raise another force, or we cut our losses and encourage people to resettle somewhere else, which seems an almost-wasted effort, since there will be nowhere left to hide when Argon spreads this disease across all of Aldor.”

  “And the third?” Bek said, taking a step to the right to block the sun from Ayrion’s face.

  “We keep fighting.”

  Abiah looked at the others. “Well, I’m not leaving. I don’t care if I have to storm that flaming mine on my own. I’ll chase this Argon creature into the Pits of Aran’gal if I have to.”

  Tameel patted Abiah on the shoulder. “None of us are planning on giving up.”

  “But I also don’t want to throw our lives away, either,” Ayrion said. “We need a plan. We need some kind of leverage.”

  “Riders!” a watchman called from the balcony.

  Everyone turned. The watchman walked to the railing. “Riders approaching from the east, General!”

  Abiah reached for his sword.

  Ayrion raised his hand. “Calm yourself. We know they aren’t vulraaks.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because, other than the fact that the sun is up, vulraaks eat horses; they don’t ride them.” He called down to those guarding the entrance. “Open a door.”

  “You couldn’t have asked for a timelier arrival,” Tameel said with a wide grin.

  Ayrion left the table and headed down the stairs to the main floor. Riders filed into the town square. It looked like there were at least twenty or thirty in the group. Nell must have sent them straight from the encampment, for which he was grateful.

  Sunlight streamed through the open door and reflected off the polished head of one of Bek’s hatchets, hitting Ayrion square in the eyes. He tried moving out of the way, but every time he moved, Bek shifted t
oo.

  “For pity’s sake, Bek! Will you stop moving!” Ayrion laughed as he managed to find a safe spot to stand.

  A thought struck him.

  “And there it is,” Tameel said, pointing at Ayrion.

  “There what is?” Abiah asked.

  “The Look.”

  Bek turned. “What look?”

  “The look that says we are about to get tossed out of the frying pan and straight into the flames.”

  Ayrion smiled. “You’re right. I do have an idea.” He took a deep breath. Was he seriously considering this? “And it’s completely insane.”

  “The best ones usually are,” Bek said with a wary smile.

  “Well?” Abiah asked. “What’s your idea?”

  “We’re going after the nest.”

  “That’s not an idea,” Abiah grumbled. “That’s lunacy.”

  Tameel flung his arms in the air. “You’re right. You are insane! The last time you attempted that, you barely made it out alive!”

  “Yes, but that’s because the last time, we didn’t have our secret weapon.”

  Bek rested his hand on the top of one of his hatchets. “And what the blazes would that be?”

  Ayrion couldn’t help but laugh. “Gentlemen, we are going to make a crawly-killer.”

  Chapter 76 | Ayrion

  “A LITTLE MORE TO the right. No, your other right, you daft fool! Are you trying to get us all killed?” Abiah glared at the man holding the mirror until the man, with a sheepish expression, finally turned. As soon as he did, the glass caught the sun’s rays and burned a hole into the darkness of the mine shaft.

  The mine seemed to Ayrion to be a giant sand orm, waiting to swallow them whole. At least now they could see where the monstrous throat would take them.

  Ayrion shaded his eyes as he looked up at the intermittent clouds. The sun warmed his face. “Hope it holds out,” he said, more to himself than for the benefit of those nearby.

  Bek smiled. “This plan is too ridiculous not to work.”

  “What happens if the clouds cover the sun?” Zynora asked, calmly inspecting her two daggers. With this being their one and only chance to destroy the creature’s nest, every man and woman capable of holding a weapon was there, apart from a select few who had been left to tend to the wounded.

  Tameel had reluctantly volunteered to stay behind. He had been less than enthused at the idea of his wife facing the vulraaks without him, but with the injury to his leg, he couldn’t very well argue the point.

  “If we lose the sun,” Bek said, “then we fight with torch and blade.” He stared at his reflection in the polished steel of his hatchet and bared his teeth.

  “And if all else fails,” Ayrion said, placing an arm around Zynora’s bony shoulders, “we have you.”

  “If that’s the case, Grey Eyes, I reckon we’re all out of luck.”

  Another blinding flash of light caught Ayrion in the face, and he moved to the side to get out of the way. Large pieces of reflective glass that they had been able to scavenge from town were interspersed throughout the ragtag band of fighters, as well as polished bronze, copper, and even steel plating. Each reflected light across the entirety of the cave’s open face and surrounding warehouses.

  “I just hope we don’t run out of reflectors,” Abiah said as he counted down the line.

  Ayrion drew his swords. “Let’s move while we still have the sun.”

  The company of fighters pressed to the left wall as best they could to allow the reflected light to make its way down the first leg of their journey. Ahead, the sun sparkled off veins of ore still buried in the walls, revealing the first turn in the tunnel.

  The light flickered periodically as the person holding the mirror behind them shifted positions to move with the sun. Once or twice it went out altogether, leaving them in darkness. At those times, they were forced to rely on the torches, which barely gave off enough light to see the next ten feet ahead.

  Ayrion wasn’t much of a praying man—at least he didn’t think he was—but he found himself desperate enough to ask the Creator to keep the light strong.

  The air was damp and cold, and the smell of death was pervasive, drowning out everything else. Breathing from the mouth only did so much.

  It didn’t take long before they reached the fork in the tunnel where they had been ambushed before. This time, instead of a single mirror to reflect the light, Ayrion had them tie off two mirrors in a broad V shape with the tip pointed into the light from the previous mirror. The beam split, casting a stream of light against each opposing side of the tunnel, where they set two more mirrors to direct that light down both shafts.

  Loud shrieks filled the right passageway as scores of hidden vulraaks were suddenly drowned in sunlight. Many fled into the darker recesses of the mine, but those unable to do so lined the packed dirt and rock with their white bodies.

  It was nice to have the upper hand for a change.

  After the first time, Ayrion was surprised Argon had attempted the ambush again. Surely, he knew they would expect it. Argon didn’t seem to care about the lives of his vulraaks. Perhaps because there were always more where they came from.

  “What is that?” some of the fighters asked as they stared down the right fork at the black mist swirling around the tunnel.

  “It’s the plague being forced from their bodies,” Zynora said as the black cloud floated upward and dissipated.

  Ayrion wondered if once the plague left their bodies, they would return to normal like Nell had, but he didn’t have time to wait around and find out. After leaving a small contingent to stay behind and protect the mirrors, he waved them forward, taking the left passageway, the same one they had traveled the day before.

  So far, the left tunnel seemed to be empty. More than once, Bek stopped to put his ear to the rail, each time shaking his head. “Does anyone but me think this has been a little too easy?” he asked.

  Ayrion was thinking the same thing. But other than giving up and turning around, they only had one option. Keep going.

  Chapter 77 | Breen

  THE MORNING WAS COLDER than usual. Breen and his father, along with Fraya and Lyessa, had spent the entire night trying to track Ty through the forest. Whoever, or whatever, was controlling his brother had been able to move about without leaving any sign of passing. Finally, as the time for the overlords’ meeting neared, they returned to town.

  Breen followed his father and Lyessa down River Street, keeping Acorn abreast of Fraya’s horse as they went. The white dome of the Sidaran Assembly was just coming into view. He bit off a small piece of dried meat he had laid aside for breakfast and offered Fraya the rest. She devoured the entire thing, apparently not caring about appearing ladylike.

  “I’m not exactly dressed for the occasion,” Fraya said, looking down at her dirty jacket and pants.

  Lyessa smiled. “I’m not in any better shape than you, and I’m the overlord’s daughter.” She had dark circles under her eyes, and strands of hair had pulled loose from under her hat.

  They stopped at the assembly building and Breen dismounted, then helped Fraya down from her horse. Her straight black hair clung to her face, like gloved hands cupping her cheeks, giving her an almost-gaunt look. They were all tired.

  Breen would have helped Lyessa as well, but she had already dismounted by the time he got around to her horse, no doubt anxious to get inside.

  They tied their horses on the first open rail they could find and started up the front steps. Once inside, they followed Lyessa down the right corridor, stopping just outside the third room on the left.

  “They aren’t meeting in the assembly room?” Breen asked.

  Lyessa shook her head. “The conclave between the overlords isn’t open to the full assembly.”

  “And you’re sure your father wants us there?” Breen’s father asked. “From what I gathered, the meeting was to discuss the king dismantling Cylmar. Hardly a reason for the wielder council to be in attendance.”


  “I believe he intends to share the recent attack on Easthaven by the White Tower.”

  Breen’s nerves had him tightening his grip on his belt. It was one thing to stand in front of the Sidaran Assembly and discuss magic, but quite another to do so with three of the most powerful men in Aldor.

  The guards opened the doors when they saw Lyessa and raised their fists in salute.

  The room Overlord Barl had chosen for this particular meeting was half the size of the assembly chamber and felt less intimidating, which Breen appreciated. Instead of the cold white marble, it held a rich array of wood, all native to the Sidaran Forest. An enormous hearth took up the center of the right wall, with a long table for the overlords directly in front.

  “I didn’t expect there to be this many in attendance,” Breen said, staring at the packed room.

  Lyessa smiled. “It’s a conclave of the Provincial Authority. Everyone wants to be here.”

  “Yes, but I figured they would keep it to a minimum for security reasons.”

  “Which is why they’re here,” she said, pointing to the host of lancers lining the perimeter of the room, each decked in their finest green-and-gold livery, each holding a ceremonial halberd.

  The room was filled with chatter, and from the anxious looks on the faces of those gathered, it appeared the proceedings were about to get underway.

  “Over there,” Fraya said, pointing to the other side of the room, where Orlyn was standing, waving them over. Apparently, the wielder council had saved them some seats.

  As they moved around the back of the audience, Breen couldn’t help but notice how underdressed he was. He was still wearing his thick leather riding gear from the previous day, along with a heavy cloak to keep the selection of weaponry he had tucked underneath away from prying eyes. Like his father, he’d opted to leave his bow and quiver with his horse. The guards might not have allowed them in so heavily armed, and with all the added security, they didn’t feel the need to worry about thieves roaming around in front of the Sidaran Assembly Hall.