Plague of Shadows

by Michael Wisehart

  “There’s nothing to fear,” Barl shouted. With the lancers’ help, he managed to calm the people down enough to coax them back to their seats. “The creature is dead.” He even went so far as to order one of the soldiers to poke it with a halberd. Once the assembly realized the threat wasn’t as dire as it had seemed, they grew more inquisitive and began to crowd around the overlords to get a closer look at the once-ferocious eight-legged creature.

  Meyrose’s attendants finally righted his seat. The front of his silk vest and velvet overcoat were covered in red wine.

  On Barl’s command, the lancers rewrapped the spider and carried it back out of the meeting room.

  Barl took his seat and waited as the overlords conversed with their advisors before returning to the table. Clearly, the shock of witnessing such a mythical creature had put them in a more open frame of mind.

  “I could take you to the site where we burned and buried the bodies of the Tallosian warriors and the rest of the arachnobes, but I figure if this little demonstration isn’t enough to convince you that what I say is true, then there’s no hope of me ever accomplishing it.”

  “You’ve got my attention,” Agnar said, sharing a stern glance across the table with Meyrose.

  Meyrose, still flushed from his embarrassing tumble, merely nodded, his jowls wobbling with the effort.

  Barl smiled and clapped his hands together. “Good. Then I believe we—”

  A commotion broke out in the corridor outside the meeting room. Shouts could be heard from the other side of the double doors, along with the sharp ring of steel.

  “What’s this?” Agnar demanded, standing once more.

  Meyrose, still wielding his goblet, struggled to his feet with the help of one of his aides and turned around. “What’s going on, Barl? I demand an explanation.”

  There was a loud crack, like lightning striking a tree, and the doors ripped from their hinges and flew across the room, scattering men and women in their wake. The entire assembly erupted once more into a panicked stampede, with members clawing over one another as they tried to reach the far side of the room. Many screamed that the spider had woken to eat them.

  Breen’s father leaped from his seat and charged headfirst into the terrified throng of people. “Breen! Protect the girls!” he shouted back over his shoulder. “I’ve got to get to Barl.”

  Chapter 79 | Breen

  “I DON’T NEED PROTECTION,” Lyessa said as she whipped out her sword and stood next to Breen.

  Fraya stood just behind Lyessa, her sword also in hand, albeit somewhat shakily. Breen didn’t think he’d ever get used to seeing her like that.

  “We’ve got them,” Orlyn said as he and Feoldor moved up beside them. The apothecary held his rune-covered staff in front of him. “Go help your father.”

  Breen attempted to fight his way through the crowd, but the mass of bodies pressing against each other overwhelmed him. Sheeva, on the other hand seemed to have no problem weaving in and out of the hysteria. Her white head bobbed up and down, disappearing in one place and reappearing in another as she worked her way toward his father.

  On Breen’s right, Overlord Meyrose tried his best to fend off the mob that was rushing straight for him. When panic took over, it seemed all civilized behavior and social niceties—like titles, wealth, and prestige—disappeared. Meyrose managed to upend his cup on a woman trying to push by, splashing what remained of its contents in her face and down her dress, while at the same time using it as a bludgeon to crack another man across the side of his head as he attempted to throw the overlord out of the way. The man turned and punched Meyrose full in the face, knocking him clean off his feet.

  Breen didn’t have time to laugh as he focused on keeping from getting hit himself. By the time he reached Barl’s seat, the overlord was nowhere to be seen. His father was standing on the overlord’s chair, trying to get a better look. Sheeva stood in front, fighting back those attempting to push the chair aside.

  “What do you see?” Breen asked.

  “Not much. But knowing Barl, he’s probably on his way toward the fighting.”

  “Kellen!”

  His father turned. Feoldor and Veldon were just coming into view as they worked through the sea of faces.

  “What’s going on?” the dockmaster asked. “You don’t think the White Tower has sent a squad of bulradoer to assassinate the overlord council, do you?”

  “I almost hope it is,” his father said. “But I have a sinking feeling we might have just found Ty.”

  “Or he found us,” Breen added, hoping he was wrong.

  Feoldor held up both hands and pushed a wedge of air in front of them that split what remained of the crowd in two. The five of them passed through, with Sheeva in the lead.

  “Why in the flaming Pits would Ty be attacking the Provincial Authority?” Feoldor asked.

  “’Cause it ain’t Ty doing it,” Breen said. “Whoever’s controlling him is.”

  “Well, that’s a real problem for us, don’t you think?” Feoldor said, continuing to push people aside with the hardened air. “He’s a faeling, for pity’s sake. How are we going to stop him?”

  “I’m going to try talking to him,” Breen’s father said.

  “Talking? The last time we tried talking to him, he set Gilly on fire.” As if on cue, two lancers flew past the door, screaming. Their bodies had been set ablaze.

  The fire was blue.

  “It’s Ty,” Breen said, almost wishing it had been the bulradoer.

  They found Barl standing with his men in the doorway.

  “We need to get your men back,” Breen’s father said.

  Barl turned, his sword in hand. “It’s Dakaran! He’s sent assassins to kill the overlords.”

  “It’s not Dakaran,” Breen’s father said. “It’s worse. You need to pull your men back and protect the people. We’ll deal with this.”

  Barl hesitated, but the look on Breen’s father’s face was apparently enough to convince him. “Captain, order a retreat!”

  The Sidaran captain rushed back up the hall, shouting for the lancers to retreat.

  Breen’s father turned to the others. “Feoldor, we’re going to need you to try setting up a shield. Veldon, if that doesn’t work, we might need your fire. But do your best not to hurt him if you can.”

  “I’ll try, Kellen, but I can’t promise much.”

  “Hurt who?” Barl asked. “Who are you talking about? Do you know what’s going on?”

  The lancers were getting closer, slowly retreating in their direction.

  “Ty has been possessed by some sort of dark magic,” Breen’s father said. “Please keep your men back. We’re going to attempt to set up a blockade in the corridor. When we do, we need you to get these people out of here. They’re going to be like rats in a trap if they stay in this room.”

  Barl nodded and stepped into the meeting room, ordering his lancers to start herding the frightened people toward the entrance, a difficult task, considering they were all pressed against each other on the opposite side of the room.

  Breen scanned the hallway. All the council members who had attended the meeting seemed to be accounted for, except Sheeva. She was nowhere to be seen, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t close by. Breen only hoped she didn’t do anything stupid, like go after his brother on her own.

  The floor was layered with lancers, some struggling to rise, others working to help those unable to move. The lancers were now only a couple of doors away.

  Shouts rang out and a few of the men in front were thrown backward over the others. Breen watched their bodies hit the ground. They didn’t move.

  The captain continued shouting for his men to retreat.

  Breen and the rest of the council moved against the walls to let them pass. Behind him, Breen could hear Barl issuing orders, directing his men to escort those inside to safety.

  Another line of lancers passed, and Breen caught his first glimpse of Ty. His brother stood in the cente
r of the corridor, having stopped about twenty feet from where they were. He seemed to be waiting on something.

  As soon as the last of the guards passed, Breen’s father shouted at Feoldor, who raised a barrier of hardened air between them and Ty. It wasn’t enough to cover the entire hallway, but it was enough to protect the council. The four of them walked out to the center of the corridor and waited. Orlyn, Reloria, and Fraya stayed behind to help with the injured lancers.

  Ty remained where he was, white hair tucked behind his ears, the tan overcoat their mother had made for him hanging open at the front. There was something else as well. Something off. A disturbing sort of unnatural grin on his face. Breen shivered. The features were Ty’s, but his eyes were anything but. Was there any part of his brother still left? Fight it, Ty.

  “I don’t see it,” Breen said.

  “See what?” Veldon asked.

  “The book.”

  “It’s probably in his jacket,” his father said.

  Ty took a small step forward, more adjusting his feet than anything. “I heard there was a meeting today, and I didn’t want to miss it. Looks like I got here just in time.” Ty appeared relaxed, as though he knew he had nothing to fear from the four of them.

  Breen’s father took a step forward as well, only able to go so far with Feoldor’s wall blocking their way. “We’re not here to fight you, Ty. We’re here to help you.”

  Breen wondered if Ty could even hear them. Or if his brother was even still in there.

  Ty cocked his head. “Help me?” He laughed.

  “Ty, can’t you see you’re acting like a lunatic?” someone said on the right.

  Breen leaned forward. It was Lyessa. She passed Veldon, working her way up the wall until she reached the barrier. She knew it wasn’t Ty. She’d seen the way he’d attacked his father in the woods. What was she doing?

  Surprisingly, Ty didn’t do anything but stand there. Perhaps there was still a part of him that had control? Maybe she could reach him.

  “Ty, no one here wants to hurt you. Look at me,” she said, raising both arms out and doing a complete spin on her heels to let him see she was unarmed. “I’m not a wielder. I don’t have any great powers. You could squash me like a bug if you wanted.”

  Breen’s heart was thumping in his ears. Lyessa seemed to be the first person Ty was responding to.

  “You know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. I care about you. And even though you act like a stubborn two-headed donkey sometimes, I know you care about me.” She waited for him to say something. “Are you listening to me?”

  Feoldor muttered something under his breath concerning her two-headed-donkey comment, and Veldon shook his head. But Breen, for the first time, saw a ray of hope. Ty did actually seem to be listening, his focus solely on her. The disturbing grin he’d been wearing a moment ago was gone. Breen had no idea how much was Ty and how much was the book, but something was working.

  “Give her a chance,” Breen’s father whispered, and Feoldor lowered part of the barrier, just enough to let her slip by.

  “Shut up, boy,” Ty suddenly said, and Lyessa stopped, not quite sure what to do. “Or I’ll make it slow.”

  She glanced back at the council members, then back at Ty. “I know you care about me, Ty,” she continued, her voice noticeably shaking. She took two steps forward and held out her hand. “Please, just give me the book.”

  Ty’s eyes hardened, and the smile returned.

  Breen’s breath caught in his throat. If he didn’t do something, Ty was going to kill her. “Who are you?” he asked, taking a step forward.

  Ty turned. “What a silly question. I’m your brother.” Ty’s smile was enough to send chill bumps down Breen’s arms.

  “My brother would never threaten his family. He would certainly never try to murder a friend.” From the corner of his eye, Breen could see Lyessa slowly easing back toward Feoldor’s shield. He needed to keep Ty talking.

  “So, the midget made it, did he? How unexpected. Guess I’ll have to be more thorough next time.”

  “There won’t be a next time,” Breen’s father said, having picked up on what Breen was trying to do. “Now, my son asked you a question. Who are you?”

  Ty released a loud cackle. “I thought it would have been obvious by now, Master Huntsman. My spiders might not have feasted on your flesh, but that doesn’t mean I can’t finish what they started.”

  Breen pulled two daggers from his coat. “Mangora.”

  Mangora’s smile faded as she slowly turned her head and looked at Lyessa. “Now, where do you think you’re going?”

  Chapter 80 | Breen

  MANGORA RAISED TY’S HAND and threw a ball of blue flames straight at Lyessa.

  There was nothing Breen could do but watch as Lyessa screamed, arms raised to block the flames.

  The fire turned a few feet from her face and slammed into the wall, scattering debris across the floor and leaving a dark, smoldering stain where it hit the white stone.

  “I’ve got her!” Feoldor shouted, having deflected the attack by extending his shield.

  Lyessa tripped on her own feet and nearly went down as she scrambled to get behind the others.

  Ty snarled, blue flames rising from both palms as the light scored his face with deep, threatening shadows. It’s not Ty, Breen kept telling himself. It’s not Ty.

  Breen’s father took a step back to give Feoldor some room and collided with Barl, who was trying to collect his daughter, but Lyessa was having none of it. She drew her sword and stood with the others.

  Ty turned his attention back to the wielder council.

  Breen stared at his brother, still having trouble believing what he was seeing. There had to be a way to reach him. “Ty, you don’t want to do this.”

  “Waste of breath at this point, son,” Veldon said on the other side of Feoldor, his flint in hand, ready to strike.

  Of course, he was right. It wasn’t Ty they were talking to. Still, Breen couldn’t help himself. “Ty, can you hear me? If you’re still in there, you need to fight!” He balled his fists. He wanted to scream at how utterly useless he felt. He didn’t even have his bow. Not that he would have used it on his brother, but at least he would have felt better prepared.

  Feoldor barely had time to brace himself when Ty raised his hand and sent a wave of fire against his shield, strong enough to push him back a step. Intense heat leaked through the shield. Sweat ran down Breen’s face as the stone around them baked like an oven. It was hard to breathe, the air coming only in shallow spurts.

  Veldon countered with his own flames as Feoldor opened small pockets in the shield for him.

  Ty responded with shields of his own, deflecting each attack. The shields were like pieces of glass; if you looked at them directly, you could see through them, but at an angle, it made what was on the other side seem distorted.

  “I can’t get around her,” Veldon said. “She’s blocking me at every turn.”

  “Keep trying!” Feoldor’s face was red. He kept his hands in motion as he blocked one volley of blue flame after another, deflecting them into the floor, walls, and ceiling, chipping stone and cracking marble.

  Veldon unleashed a wide swath of flame as well, trying to cut through Ty’s defenses, managing to force Ty back a step or two.

  “We’re not trying to kill him,” Breen said, worried they were pushing too hard.

  Veldon finally let the fire die. “He’s too strong!”

  “What can I do?” Lyessa asked, sword drawn.

  “Nothing we can do,” Feoldor yelled back over his shoulder. He turned to angle his shield, and his foot slipped on a piece of loose rubble.

  Ty seized the opportunity and flung a single ball of fire through the opening before Feoldor could right himself. Breen’s father was standing directly in its path, and Breen was too far away to reach him.

  “Look out!” he shouted.

  His father turned and started to raise his hands but was suddenly lift
ed off his feet and thrown through the air, the flames missing him by a handbreadth.

  Breen ran to help. He reached down to grab his father’s arm, but his hand hit something else.

  The air distorted, and Sheeva appeared.

  His father looked up at the white-haired assassin and smiled. “Lucky you were there.”

  She crawled off his chest. “You have all the reflexes of a gopher turtle.”

  Breen yanked his father back to his feet.

  “We can’t hold him much longer, Kellen!” Veldon shouted from the front, sending another burst of flame against Ty’s shield, trying to distract the witch controlling him long enough for Feoldor to catch his breath.

  Ty smothered Veldon’s flames, then turned and threw a pulse of energy at the left wall, shattering the marble and leaving the floor covered in its pieces.

  “What’s he do—” Breen didn’t get a chance to finish.

  Ty lifted his hands and, muttering something, sent a thin layer of air to lift the rubble.

  “Feoldor, the shield!” his father shouted, but it was too late. The witch hurled the rubble straight at them.

  Feoldor sent the glassy barrier racing across the hall, but he wasn’t fast enough to catch everything. A couple of pieces tore through and hit the guards standing in front of Barl, killing both. One hit Barl in the arm, and he went down, and one ricocheted off the wall and hit Breen in the leg. He fell.

  Breen gritted his teeth and looked down, afraid to see how badly he was injured. The piece must have been small; it seemed to have passed straight through his thigh. His father ripped a tunic from one of the fallen soldiers and quickly tied off the wound. Breen cried out as soon as his father slipped the knot and the material tightened around the hole.

  “It’s clean,” his father said. “You’ll live.”

  Breen hobbled back in line behind the others, everyone packed tight behind Feoldor and Veldon to keep from having that happen again.

  Feoldor’s shield was growing smaller. He didn’t have enough strength to hold one wide enough to encompass the entire hall, at least not anymore. It was taking everything he had just to block the witch’s fireballs.