Into the Shadows

by Linda K Hopkins

  It was her own helplessness that made Lark feel so wretched now. “I didn’t know what to do.”

  The Drameara watched her as the food arrived on the table, the ale sloshing slightly. “Something happened. What was it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do. How old were you?”

  She looked away, and he leaned forward on the table. “Tell me, Lark,” he said softly.

  Her eyes flew to his, which were dark and angry despite his soft tone. He had never called her by her name before.

  “Twelve,” she said. “I was twelve.”

  “What happened?”

  She turned to look out the window, watching the leaves on a tree rustle gently on a breeze beneath the light of a lamp.

  “I followed my brothers and Val into the city, but they were too quick for me, and I lost them on a side street.”

  She told the Drameara that when she overheard their whispered plans to sneak into the city, she had begged them to allow her to go too, but they had laughed her off. “You’re just a baby, and a girl,” they had said. “We don’t want you hanging around with us.” But she had refused to be put off and followed a few feet behind, keeping pace with them when they quickened their steps, until finally they shook her off in the narrow streets of the old city, leaving her hopelessly lost.

  “Were they Rhymers?”

  “Four of them. They seemed so big, while I was so little. I tried to escape, but what could one little girl do? One of them grabbed and held me, while the others …” She trembled, pushing away the memory of grasping hands and demanding lips.

  “You’re not helpless anymore,” he said. “You are no longer twelve.” He watched her for a moment. “How far did they go?”

  “Madam Breena stopped them as they were pushing me to the ground. She owns the Dragon’s Philipott, and when she heard the commotion, she came out swinging a walking stick. She frightened them enough that they ran away, but not after giving her a few bruises.”

  “Did your brothers come back for you?”

  “No. Madam Breena helped me back home.”

  “Were the boys ever punished?”

  “I never told anyone.” His face stiffened. “By the time I arrived home my mother had a terrible headache. I didn’t want to worry her more by telling her what happened. And it all turned out well, because Madam Breena has been treating her ever since.” Lark stared at the tree, silhouetted by the rising moon. It had not been the first of Mother’s headaches, but it had been the most severe – made worse, Mother had told her, by Lark’s absence, and her concern over her daughter lost in the city.

  “So the boys got away with molesting you, and your brothers got away with abandoning you!”

  “I should never have followed them in the first place. Then none of it would have happened.”

  “Stop,” he said. “What they did was wrong, but you are strong enough and smart enough to recognize that it was not your fault. Taking the blames makes you weak. Place blame where it belongs and become stronger.”

  “How?”

  “Get angry. Your brothers abandoned you. Feel outraged for the twelve-year-old girl who endured the assault and never told anyone. Learn to fight, so it doesn’t happen again.”

  “And who do I fight? Rhymers?”

  “You fight anyone who deserves it, whether they be Rhymer or Cambrian.”

  “I don’t know how to fight.”

  “Did your father never teach you how to defend yourself?”

  Lark gave a little snort. “I wanted to learn. Iron and Crag were learning how to use a sword, and I wanted to, as well. But apparently such activities are not suitable for a girl.”

  “So, he left you defenseless, dependent on men like your brothers and the prince.” He shook his head. “Tomorrow, you learn how to fight.”

  He dug his fork into his food, and Lark did the same. It had grown a little cold as she shared her story but was still tasty and filling.

  “If you teach me to fight, I could fight Rhymers.”

  “As you should, if necessary.” He beckoned the waitress to bring another tankard. “The Rhymers are my allies because we share a common enemy, but I fight for my mistress, not the Rhymers.” The ale arrived and he downed it in one gulp, then gestured for another.

  “Are you not Rhymer?” Lark asked.

  “Once, long ago. But not anymore.”

  “How do you stop being Rhymer?”

  “By becoming Drameara.”

  “You became Drameara? You weren’t born this way.”

  “No.” He looked around. “I hate this place.”

  “Why?”

  “It was here that I saw my parents for the last time.” He brought his gaze back to hers. “They were arrested by the Crimson Guard, and never seen again.” He finished his ale and beckoned for another.

  “Planning to get drunk, are you?”

  “Yes, but I’ll still catch you if you try to run, although I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to keep my anger in check. I’m only here because of you.”

  “So it’s my fault that you’re getting drunk,” she said with a snort.

  He raised the fresh tankard the moment it landed on the table. “Glad we understand each other, princess.”

  She finished her food and sipped her own ale, pondering what he had said.

  “What happened when your parents were taken?” she asked.

  “We ran, my brothers and me. We thought the Guardsmen were going to take us, too. But we got separated. The Ancient found me and saved me.”

  Her eyes widened slightly as a missing piece of the puzzle clicked into place. “It’s the Ancient’s blood you drink,” she said. Her brow furrowed as she considered that. “Does it heal you?”

  He lifted bloodshot eyes to meet hers. “Yes. And now I’m going to have to kill you.”

  “Oh, why?”

  “Because you shouldn’t know that. You’ll tell the commander.”

  “I thought I was never going to see the commander again.”

  “You’re not.”

  She nodded. “What is your name?”

  “Seven.”

  “The name your parents gave you?”

  He turned away to stare out the window. “Kalen.”

  She smiled triumphantly as he finished his ale, slammed down the tankard, and ordered another.

  “Why do you drink the Ancient’s blood?” she asked.

  He gave her a bleary look. “You think that my drinking means I’ll give you more information?”

  “Well, you already have. And since you’re going to kill me, you might as well tell me everything.”

  He gave a snort. “Nice try, princess. Now, let’s get you to bed.”

  His movements were a little slower than usual, the only sign that he had been drinking. When they arrived in the room he reached into his bag and pulled out the stone jar. Removing the stopper with his teeth, he tipped back his head and drank, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Feeling better, Kalen?”

  He shot her an annoyed look. “That’s not my name.”

  “But it was.”

  “Aye.” He placed the jar back in the bag. “It was.”

  “What happened to your parents?”

  “They were hung for treason. They were plotting to kill the king.”

  “So the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

  “I suppose not, princess.”

  “Still planning to kill me?”

  “I’ll decide in the morning. Right now I need to dispose of those Guardsmen.”

  “What will you do with them?”

  “I’ll consider my options as I walk,” he said evasively. “I’ll be back before dawn.” Checking his weapons, he turned and left the room, locking it from the outside.

  Chapter 22

  The sun was streaming through the window when Lark awoke, bu
t she pulled the blanket up around her chin, luxuriating in the pleasure of having a bed beneath her and a blanket on top. She felt a movement and turned around, then jumped out of the bed when she saw the Drameara lying beside her.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded. “Why are you in the bed?”

  He opened an eye to glare at her balefully. “Where else should I have slept?”

  She glanced around the room. “On the chair? On the floor? Anywhere but on the bed!”

  “Is the bed only for the Cambrian princess?”

  “The bed is for the captive!”

  “Stop playing the victim.”

  “I am the victim,” she shouted. She glared at him as he lifted his eyebrows at her.

  “Only if you choose to be.”

  “Urgh!”

  With a sigh, he sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. His chest was bare, and the dragon rings around his nipples glinted in the sunlight.

  “Why do you wear those?” she asked, looking pointedly at the rings.

  He dropped his gaze to his chest. “They are a permanent part of me.”

  “What do you mean, permanent?”

  “They can’t be removed. The silver was melted into my flesh and became part of me.”

  “Melted into your flesh.” She stared at him, aghast. “Why?”

  “It’s the mark of the Ancient.”

  “It must have been excruciating.”

  “It was.” He rose from the bed and turned his back to her, pulling on his shirt as he did so. “We leave right away,” he said.

  “I thought we were waiting for the Guard.”

  “We’ll wait beyond the town. I found their camp last night, so I know from which direction they’ll come. But we don’t want them to come into Dundell.”

  “Do you really believe they’ll wreak havoc in Dundell if you’re not here to defend it?”

  “I do. And you have heard enough by now to know it as well.”

  “They can’t all be like that,” she said. He quirked an eyebrow and ran his finger down a sword. “Will you call the Shadow Warrior?”

  “What makes you think I should?”

  “You’ll be outnumbered.”

  He grunted but said nothing more as he slung his weapons over his shoulders and around his waist then left the room, not waiting to see if she would follow. She gave a sigh, and combing her fingers through her hair to remove the tangles, she followed him into the passage.

  The Drameara showed no hesitation in navigating the winding roads of Dundell, and it did not take long to reach the outskirts of the town and head into the open countryside. In the far distance, Lark could see the Obsidian Mountains, mere smudges of purple on the horizon, while in the foreground, the ground was gently undulating, with a small stand of trees a short distance away. A road led into the distance, and the Drameara followed it, past the trees and up a gentle slope. Lark glanced back to see the town of Dundell laying in a shallow valley, with wisps of smoke rising from the town into the blue sky. It seemed peaceful, unaware of any possible danger.

  They walked for a few hours, increasing the distance between them and Dundell, until finally the Drameara left the road, heading down a well-worn track.

  A building lay in the distance, but as they drew closer, Lark could see that the roof was missing, and the windows were empty of glass. Beyond the building lay a few piles of stone which once were part of a wall. Stepping through an empty doorway, the Drameara led her into the building. Except for a few broken pieces of wood, it was completely bare, whatever furniture that might have once been there long gone. A layer of dust covered the floor, and a pile of ash lay in the grate below a chimney.

  “You stay here,” the Drameara said. “And don’t leave until I come and fetch you!” He stared at her pointedly and she sat down on the floor against the wall.

  “Happy?” she asked.

  He frowned, then turned to the broken doorway. “Don’t leave,” he warned over his shoulder. “If I have to spend time and effort tracking you down again, I will tie you up and gag you for the remainder of our trip. You know that you can’t escape me.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To wait for the Crimson Guard.”

  “Are you sure they’re going to come?”

  “Yes. They will have noticed their comrades’ absence by now.”

  “But how many?”

  “Not a whole unit. My guess will be around six.”

  “Are you calling the Shadow Warrior?”

  “You are very interested in the Shadow Warrior, aren’t you? Do you have a yearning to see him again, or are you just concerned for my safety?”

  “Neither,” she snapped. He snorted in amusement and headed away.

  Rising, she dusted off her pants and went over to the window. She could see him stride across the grass, before he disappeared behind a length of broken-down wall. Heading to the doorway, she sat down in the sunshine and leaned her head against the doorpost. Crickets chirped and in the distance she could hear bird calls. She closed her eyes as the peace and quiet lulled her, but even so, she kept her ear open for the noise of battle. It came sometime later, the sound of metal on metal and the cries of warriors. Rising stiffly, she went back into the house and peered through the window, but she could not see past the ruined wall.

  The cries were getting louder, and she headed outside the house to the length of broken wall. A slight vale lay beyond the wall, where men in crimson uniforms were fighting. There was a blur of motion, a figure moving so fast it seemed to be walking on air, its weapons gleaming in the sun as it slashed all within reach. The Guardsmen did not even have a chance, she thought, watching as they were ruthlessly felled by the Shadow Warrior, who moved too fast to even be tracked by the eye. She looked around, trying to spot the Drameara, but he was not evident in the conflict, and she returned her attention to the fight. She could see at least four Guardsmen fighting, but it was difficult to tell with all the movement.

  She watched in horror as a man was speared through the chest, covering her mouth as she gasped at the sight. Before she had taken her next breath, however, the Shadow Warrior stopped and spun around to where she stood watching. It was too far for her to see more than an outline, but she felt as though he was staring right at her, and she quickly ducked down, her heart racing. She waited a few minutes before sneaking another peek. When she did, the Shadow Warrior was once more a blur of motion. She slumped back against the wall in relief, then crouched down and crept back to the house, where she settled herself within the meager confines of the building.

  The sounds in the distance were growing fainter, and then they stopped altogether. Less than a minute later a figure darkened the doorway, and she scrambled to her feet as the Shadow Warrior stepped into the building. His dark, scaly skin was dull in the low light inside, and his eyes shone yellow-green as he approached her. The tip of a forked tongue flicked the air between a pair of black lips.

  “You were supposssed to remain in here,” he hissed. White fangs showed as he spoke, while blood stained his body. Beneath the blood, she could still see the dark marking that decorated his skin.

  “I, er …” she stammered. “Where’s Kalen?” she finally said.

  “Kalen?” He cocked his head, his yellow eyes holding her.

  “The Drameara,” she clarified.

  “Ah, the Drameara. Where do you think he isss?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yesss, you do, princessss. Open your eyesss! Stop seeing what you want to see and look at the truth!”

  She frowned, trying to make sense of his words as her gaze dropped to his chest. Silver dragons wound around his breasts, stabbing his nipples with their tongues. She stared at them and from the corner of her eye, she saw his tongue flicking the air. She lifted her eyes to meet his reptilian gaze.

  “Yesss,” he hissed.

  “You’re the Drameara.” She knew it was true as
soon as the words were spoken. His eyes held hers as his tongue flicked. “And you’re the Shadow Warrior. Which one is the real you?”

  He stepped closer and she steeled herself not to flinch.

  “I disssgussst you.”

  “You terrify me.”

  “You cannot bear to look at me.”

  “No,” she whispered.

  “I am two sides of the same coin, princessss.”

  She dropped her gaze to his chest, where the dark markings seemed to be slithering over his scaly skin. She stared at them, then lifted her gaze as he closed the gap between them. He lifted a black claw to her neck and stroked her skin, and this time she could not suppress the flinch.

  “I want to try something, princesss,” he hissed.

  “What?” she asked, her voice wavering slightly. His tongue flicked the air before he spoke.

  “I want to taste your blood.”

  “Why?” She suppressed a shudder.

  “It takes a long time for me to return to the form you prefer, princessss. I think your blood will help me change fassster.”

  “Why?” Her curiosity was evident in her voice.

  “There’s a connection between your blood and mine.”

  “What kind of connection?”

  “Mine respondsss to yours. It’sss why I could remove the cuffsss so easily. You’ve felt it, too.”

  She stared at him dubiously. “How can you know for sure?”

  “Like thisss.” And before she could respond, his mouth was at her neck, his fangs sinking into her skin. As his clawed hand slipped around her neck she cried out, but it wasn’t from pain. Instead, an intense feeling of pleasure took hold of her, and she tilted her neck, giving him easier access. He pulled away for a moment and she felt his gaze on her, before he buried his fangs into her skin once more, going deeper as she moaned. She could feel him drawing her blood into him, and she wound her hands around his neck; he lifted his mouth and whispered against her skin.

  “That wasss unexpected.”

  “What?” she panted as his tongue flicked her ear.