Shadowfane

by Janny Wurts

  Jaric did not answer. Absorbed in the workings of his art, he moved one foot, then the next, in carefully unbroken rhythm. Light flared from his raised palms, and at his command the rock parted, smoothly, soundlessly, insubstantial as a lifting curtain.

  Though the effect might seem effortless, passage through the deeps of Shadowfane did not come without cost. In time, the air grew stale. The Kielmark noticed a quiver in the flesh beneath his hands. Until now mechanically even, Jaric's step became unsteady and slow; the rock gave way before him sluggishly as syrup thickened by cold. Still the Firelord pressed on. His skin grew clammy with exertion. The power discharged from his person grew uneven, flaring like wind-torn candles into searing spatters of sparks.

  At length Jaric stopped entirely. The stone before him rippled into solidity, hard and impenetrable as always, leaving the two of them within a sealed compartment of air. He rubbed his face with his hands and, in a voice muffled through his fingers, said, 'You can let go.'

  The Kielmark allowed his hands to fall. Sweating in the closeness of the stone, he gripped his sword and grimly awaited admission of trouble. The Firelord seemed taxed more than sorcery alone should warrant.

  Jaric spun around quite suddenly. 'We're being flanked.' By the fire glow he maintained for illumination, exhaustion lay printed like bruises beneath his lashes. His hair curled damp at his temples, and his eyes shone fever-bright. 'I've found demons waiting each place I've tried to emerge. Maybe they sense the currents of my conjuring. The reason doesn't matter. Quite soon we're going to run out of air.'

  'Overextend your resources, and we'll be trapped.' The Kielmark fingered his blade. 'I'd rather go fighting than get trapped like a fossil.'

  Jaric closed his eyes. He pulled himself together with painfully visible effort, and did not add that the working of his Earthmastery seemed strangely difficult in this place. Whether that complication was also the work of demons, only Anskiere with his years of experience might have told. Shaking in fear of final failure, the Firelord strove for steadiness. 'Getting cut to ribbons by Thienz won't spare the children, or recover the Llondelei Sathid.'

  'Neither will suffocating in what amounts to a bubble of rock.' Vexed, and disturbed by the first warning signs of dizziness, Cliffhaven's Lord jerked his head at the stone that sealed them in. 'Bring us out, and quickly. Debate will do nothing but weaken our chances.'

  In the eerie glow of the mage fire, the Kielmark showed spirit unblunted by regret or apprehension. His hair in its linen band hung limp with sweat. He had discarded his ruined shirt; long, scabbed gashes from yesterday's battle grooved his shoulders. Still he seemed a wolf on a fresh scent, vengeance for his slaughtered companies a thorn that needled him endlessly to action. His ice-pale eyes gleamed with an anger only killing could assuage.

  Jaric regarded his hands, shaking now with weariness and nerves. Never a fighter, and a sorcerer only with reluctance, he found his own wants more complex. Taen and the Cycle of Fire had taught him the value of perseverance, and Tamlin of the Vaere had sworn him to a service not lightly put aside. He was not ready yet to settle on a recourse that could only end in death. Though weariness dragged at his nerves, and his powers as Firelord seemed less than adequate for the task, he tuned his awareness to rock and sent forth another probe.

  The cell that confined the children was guarded now; Jaric knew by the whisper of air currents that eddied over stone as demon sentries paced through their term of watch. The apothecary beneath had been rigged as a snare, for the wooden shelves there resonated like sounding boards with the queer vibrations of ward-spells. In every corridor, every likely cranny his earth-sense could detect, Ivainson Firelord read movement against the earth, the restless steps of scores of prowling enemies.

  Desperate, he turned downward, toward the natural caverns that riddled the strata beneath Shadowfane. Most lay too far to be of use; but deep, at the end of a narrow tunnel, he encountered stillness. There lay a grotto submerged in silence so profound he could sense the settling of dust. No trace of demon presence lurked in wait to trap them. Resolutely Jaric focused his mastery. He bade the Kielmark to set hands to his shoulders once more. Then the heir of Ivain Firelord mustered his will and bored downward into earth on the chance the two of them might reach a haven to recover strength and regroup.

  XVII

  Ambush

  The stone dissolved in a rain of sparks. Too spent to arrange an entry with more finesse, Jaric stumbled into the narrow passage which sloped downward toward the grotto. A half-step on his heels came the Kielmark. Dizzy and starved for air, at first the two of them could do nothing but stoop and gasp awkwardly for breath.

  No demons appeared to challenge them. The place was dark and smelled of dust, to all appearances empty. Yet as equilibrium returned, Jaric felt the hair on his arms prickle with uneasiness. He could not escape the feeling that somehow their presence had been noted.

  The Kielmark's instincts were aroused also. 'Kor damn me for a fool if we aren't being watched.' Quiet as a threat, he eased his great sword from the scabbard and rested the point against the floor.

  Jaric damped his breathing with an effort. He sounded the dark with his Earthmastery, but encountered nothing untoward. The emptiness that had seemed a promise of safety now rasped at his nerves like dissonance. A feeling that waxed more insistent by the minute urged him not to linger. 'We can't stay here.'

  The Kielmark shifted his weight to a soft grate of steel on granite. 'Are you thinking of turning tail and holing up in the wild caves? If so, your reasons better be grand, sorcerer. Back-tracking sticks in my craw, and no toad-faced pack of demons is enough to sweeten cowardice.'

  Striving for Corley's casual exasperation, Jaric raised his brows. 'Every toad-faced pack of demons between you and those captive children is hoping you'll think just that. Do you always seek thrills by dangling your hide out as bait?'

  A chuckle echoed drily through the passage. 'Sorcerer, until demons learn not to murder Cliffhaven's companies, I'll split lizards' heads until my dying moment. By the sword my mother forged, I swear I'll have your balls before I go belly down through more rock to avoid them.'

  'Your mother made that sword?' Jaric grinned in disbelief. 'My ears hurt.'

  'You saying I'm a liar?' But the rest of the Kielmark's rejoinder died unspoken. From the hole left by Jaric's conjuring came the sound of furtive scraping.

  The Kielmark recoiled from the wall. His steel whined through air as he whirled to face the disturbance. 'Mothers be damned, sorcerer, you'd better make me a light to fight by.'

  Fire bloomed against blackness. Jaric raised his palm, and lit the passage in a spill of raw gold. Shadows danced grotesquely over walls of water-smoothed stone. Against the natural contours, the depression left over from their retreat by Earthmastery gleamed smooth as the inner dome of an egg.

  'It's still sealed,' said the Firelord.

  'For how long?' The Kielmark flexed his upper arms and shoulders, and shifted to the balls of his toes.

  The scraping grew louder. Like sand grains before an avalanche, part of the spell-smoothed surface crumbled away. A fissure parted in the rock.

  'Back,' cried the Kielmark. He slammed Jaric clear with his forearm and, in wildly wheeling light, raised his sword. 'Fires alone know how, but Kor's Accursed have followed us.'

  'Through stone?' The achievement should have been impossible. Bruised from the blow that had spun him toward safety, Jaric raised Earthmastery. Even as he tried to probe the nature of the breach, more sand rattled from the crack; there followed a bouncing rain of pebbles. A claw prised through. Beyond the opening rose bloodthirsty howls of impatience.

  Pressed to the wall, the Kielmark braced himself at the ready. His eyes went feral with eagerness.

  Jaric felt his hackles rise. He set his mind to seal the stone, or, if that failed, to sear the opening with fire and trap the enemy inside. But this time he did not face routine sentries. The fissure widened. A demon that was narrow and spin
ed like a lizard thrust its head through the gap. As a force more dangerous than Thienz compulsion slammed Jaric's mind, he perceived the scope of his peril. This creature he faced had somehow fathomed his mastery; while he had cut his escape portal from the gallery, the adepts of Shadowfane's compact had tapped his unguarded thoughts and managed to draw from his resources, even past the shielding properties of stone. Purloined power had enabled them to replicate earth-sense and track him.

  The demons' grasp upon the principles of Vaerish sorceries was shallow, yet if they found means to build upon the rudiments of rock-shifting, they might achieve the release of both frostwargs and Mharg. Keithland's danger now lay redoubled.

  'We're in trouble,' Jaric whispered.

  The Kielmark acknowledged with a slight jerk of his head. Then the lead demon leered in triumph. The last of the barrier crumbled away as dust. As the creature leapt through, a murder-bent horde of followers pressed toward the breach.

  Jaric dared not strike. Though he held the full command of his Firemastery coiled to engage in defence, demons had tapped his talents for their own use. Until he divined how, and took precautions, the chance existed that Shadowfane's minions might also rip power from his mind, turning his own energies against him, even as they had the earth-powers that had enabled his passage through rock.

  The Kielmark understood the complications. Savage as a cornered beast, he roared out to the Firelord behind. 'Go back! Close the stone as you leave!' His sword never wavered. Light splintered on the edge angled to slash the attackers who charged in waves down the corridor.

  The moment held all the horror of nightmare, yet retreat offered no recourse. Jaric sounded his inner self, frantic with fear, and saw that the demons' first efforts at borrowing upon the effects of his Earthmastery were crudely managed. They had succeeded only because he had been unaware.

  Guarded now, he raised a ward against invasion, then jerked enchanted steel from his scabbard. The triplicate aura of his Firelord's defences burnished the passage with glare, far too late to escape. Even had he been willing to abandon the Kielmark to peril, in the lighted entrance to the grotto at his back lurked row upon row of glowing eyes. Jaric made out the spidery forms of Gierj, ink against darkness, and pressing slowly toward him.

  Their whistle rose painfully shrill in the enclosed space. Trusting the presence of steel to foil their attack, Jaric ignored them in favour of the demons who threatened his companion.

  The Kielmark jerked a knife from his boot top. 'Save yourself, sorcerer! Flee!' His shoulders bunched, as demons of every shape and description launched at him from the gap.

  An Earthmaster could engage power, mesh his own being inseparably with the matrix of the rock; this might foil the enemy indefinitely, but only another sorcerer capable of mind-link could partner such a course. The Kielmark would be doomed. Uncomplaisant, Jaric raised fire.

  The Kielmark felt heat stripe his side as he slashed. His sword bit deep into flesh. The demon in the lead tumbled against his boot, sliced nearly in half. Blood streaked the Kielmark's leggings and splashed lurid spatters on the wall. As he kicked the floundering corpse into the press of living adversaries, a fireball screamed past his elbow. In the moment while demon flesh charred, he glanced back and saw Jaric had disregarded his instructions. He also noticed the Gierj pack, whose whistle shrilled toward the upper registers where their power normally peaked. The presence of steel no longer appeared to deter them; even if Jaric sealed off the gap, attack might continue from behind.

  Anger suffused the Kielmark's features. 'Kor curse your loyalty, boy! Get clear of this! Taen asked that I keep you safe, and I swore her an oath of debt.'

  In the passage, demons hurdled the bones of charred comrades. Cliffhaven's sovereign spun to meet their charge. The blades in his hands arced around and gutted the front ranks. Spiny lizard forms tumbled and writhed in their death agonies. Those Thienz mixed among them collapsed, scrabbling webbed hands and screaming. Ones behind tried to grapple the Kielmark's mind to keep him from killing. Their attempt tangled ineffectively in fear and rage, and crazed determination. They might sooner stay a cyclone with threads than apply compulsion against madness.

  The Kielmark glanced aside and again saw that Jaric had not fled. His exasperated curse became lost in the snarls of enemies. In a decision that could be neither predicted nor reversed, he abandoned the security of the wall. He leapt the bodies of the slain like a berserker who craved death, and plunged slashing into the horde of assailants in the passage.

  Jaric shouted. 'No! Kor's grace, no!' Then despair cancelled speech. To summon fire would sear friend and foe alike. Helpless, Ivainson watched the sword rise once, then twice, steel drenched crimson with blood. Then the black hair with its simple twist of linen disappeared, pulled under by claws and ravening fangs.

  Jaric swore. Grief could not eclipse understanding; the Kielmark had made no pointless gesture of braggadocio. He had bought his own destruction deliberately, his purpose to sever the Firelord's responsibility for his life. Beyond the horrid tearing of flesh, and the resonant whistle of the Gierj, his words seemed yet to ring through the caverns of Shadowfane: 'Taen asked that I keep you safe, and I swore her an oath of debt.'

  Wild with sorrow, Jaric could not believe that the imposing vitality of the man was quenched forever; that scarred and toughened captains would sweat no more under the scrutiny of blue eyes whose keen perception could measure merit and shortcomings at a glance. The Firelord raised his powers, but not to seek refuge within earth. Instead, in a single discharge, he unleashed the latent forces of his sword.

  Sorcery screamed forth, indomitable as volcanic eruption. The hordes of Kor's Accursed had no chance to react. Fire flashed, blinding-bright, and blasted stone instantaneously to lava. The gap in the passage crumbled with a roar like hurricane surf. Snared in a holocaust, the murdering horde of demons flared incandescent as lint. Bone, flesh, and sinew, they and the corpse of their victim became immolated within the space of a second. Through a spill of uncontrollable tears, Jaric beheld the brief white outline of a sword. Then the arched ceiling of the passage collapsed. Gripping the charred twist of metal his own blade had become, he evoked mastery to shift earth.

  But no powers answered. Force lashed out of nowhere, and pinched off his talents like so many flickering candles. Jaric spun, seeking fresh targets. He found himself surrounded by Gierj. With a horrid, jolting shock, he realized his steel no longer worked to inhibit their powers. In the grotto beyond, the circle of silence he had mistaken for emptiness in fact masked Shadowfane's ultimate peril. Too late, he perceived the stillness for what it actually was: he had stumbled unwittingly upon the warded lair of the Morrigierj. No opportunity remained to flee before the whistle of its Gierjlings crested and sundered thought. Mortal consciousness crumpled before a venomous onslaught of pain, and Jaric tumbled downward into dark.

  * * *

  Ivainson Firelord slowly recovered awareness, to hurt and guttural syllables of speech. Too stupefied to distinguish words, he stirred. The sour chink of fetters shocked him fully awake. Memory returned, of a passage where the Kielmark had leapt to his death. Jaric flinched. Harrowed by loss, he opened his eyes to a bloody wash of light.

  The voice continued, echoing within stone walls. 'Look you, he is moving. Did I not say the Morrigierj and its minions struck him lightly?'

  Jaric blinked, unable to distinguish the speaker from the shadows. The bonds of his wrists were forged, not of metal, but of a substance of glassy hardness that shimmered with ward-spells. Glare prevented his pupils from adjusting.

  A hiss like a stoppered kettle sounded from the opposite side. 'Foolish toad! Only that ruined lump of sword steel spared his life. Had the Morrigierj's defence reflex killed, all plans would have been spoiled.'

  Jaric realized with a chill that the language was unfamiliar; comprehension arose from the demons' touch within his mind. Close proximity apparently forced a link with his captors similar to Taen's dream-sense. At pres
ent Ivainson had no strength to resist. His flesh stung with abrasions; Kor's Accursed had dragged him, perhaps by the cutting edges of his fetters, for his wrists burned unmercifully. Worse, his Firemastery would not answer; somehow demons had impaired his powers of sorcery. A furious attempt to force the ward restricting him brought pain that stopped his breath.

  'Your manling grows restless,' observed the first demon. 'Best you subdue him while he is disoriented and pliant, or he may do as his companion, and destroy his own life to keep honour.'

  The second demon laughed. Claws scratched lightly over stone, and a spurred foot prodded the prone body of the Firelord. 'You speak as if he is a threat! And what harm could he do, even to himself, with his limbs bound and his powers under ward? Still, get him up. Then summon the Thienz pawns who will cross-link the Firelord's Sathid-bond.'

  Jaric recovered his wind with a hoarse cry. He made a determined effort, and managed to prop himself on one elbow before blurred vision overcame him. Clinging to consciousness, he heard a rattling clank of metal. Draughts raked his body, followed by the slap of many feet on stone. Small, tough hands grasped his tunic and hauled him upright before a trestle topped with a marble slab.

  Relieved from the blinding effects of his fetters, Jaric viewed a chamber packed with the squat forms of Thienz, and other demons whose shapes he did not recognize. A lantern dangled from a length of chain overhead; at the boundary of light and shadow sat the reptilian Scait, resplendent in gems set in wire and a mantle of purple plumes. Jaric was startled by his size, for the Lord of Shadowfane rose no more than shoulder-high to a grown man. Yet he poised himself with the muscled quickness of a lizard. Hungry eyes searched his captive, while spurred fingers stroked the handle of a short, sharp knife over and over, as a lover might caress a woman.

  'How very timely of you to summon fire so near the chamber that grows the Morrigierj,' said Scait in the tongue of Keithland. His tone held honeyed satisfaction. The most promising talent among the human children had died that morning, too frail and too young to endure the rigours of Sathid-bond. But in Jaric the compact had acquired a better victim. The Demon Lord bared teeth, and qualified. 'That made your downfall swift, and inevitable. But you were doomed long before you trespassed within Shadowfane. Like Marlson Emien, and before him Merya Tathagres, you have been chosen to serve.'