Shadow's master s-3

by Jon Sprunk

  The swordsman walked over and picked up Caim's knives; he slid the suete through his belt, but held up the seax a moment before tucking it away. Malig wore an evil scowl as he was marched out of the alley with his hands likewise bound, but Dray remained where he was, holding his brother's spear. The shadow warrior said something, and Dray took a step. Caim saw the torsion begin in the Eregoth's hips, propelling him around as he drove the spear. The shadow warrior stepped away, but too slow as the spear's tip pierced his right eye and sheared through the brain until it exploded from the back of his skull. Dray recovered from the thrust and started to turn, but jerked to a halt in the space between two steps. The point of a black blade emerged from Dray's neck, and a line of blood bubbled down into his collar as he crumpled to the ground. The swordsman stood behind him.

  Malig yelled and struggled until his captor slammed him onto the ground and gave him several sharp kicks to the head. Caim flexed his muscles, but did not react. He could see by the way Dray lay on the stones that he was beyond help. The swordsman flicked the blood from his weapon and returned it to its scabbard. His visor gave no indication whether or not he felt anything for the life he'd taken.

  A gateway formed in the middle of the avenue. The shadow warriors carried Kit through and dragged Malig by his heels. Caim was hauled upright with a dagger point pricking at the base of his skull. Back in the alleyway, a mass of shadows covered the bodies of Dray and the dead warrior. Caim sighed as he was shoved into the portal's inky depths, and the street fell out from under his feet.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The message was short.

  Her Majesty, Empress Josephine I,

  Regiments from the southern garrisons have begun to gather. I can send two thousand foot militia under the command of Knight-Major Pontias Vitario within the sennight. I pray they will find you safe and in good position to repel the enemy.

  There are many other things to relate, but they can wait. Something has happened.

  The word “happened” had been scratched out, and then repeated.

  Your old friend from the Vine paid me a visit this past night. He was quite distraught to find you gone from the palace and in the north. Pardon me, but I told him as much of your recent activities as I was able. Still, the information did not satisfy the gentleman, as he left in quite a rush. His present whereabouts are unknown.

  Hubert's signature was scrawled across the bottom.

  Rain dripped on the parchment as Josey rolled it up. Her heart hadn't stopped pounding since receiving it. The “old friend” had to be Caim. After all the hoping and praying, she knew for certain he was alive. Josey shivered against the cold and fought to get ahold of her thoughts, which were flying off in wild directions. If Caim was coming for her, he would have arrived long before Hubert's messenger. That meant he'd been delayed, or he wasn't coming, and she couldn't think of many things that could delay Caim.

  They rode through a forest of denuded aspens and oaks, a foretaste of the larger forests they would encounter in the south. The sun was coming up over a chain of low hills, streaking the sky with orange and gold. It was four days since the battle, and three since she'd been captured by the Eregoths. Now Keegan's band rode with her. The men of the northern marches were excellent scouts and foragers. In addition, her cadre had increased to nearly two hundred as they found survivors from the battle and picked up new men on their dash south.

  Lightning whinnied. Josey patted his neck as she smiled at Iola riding beside her on a small gray pony. According to Captain Drathan, the girl had saved Lightning, too, riding him as she led the wagons and baggage carts to safety.

  “Are you cold, Majesty?” Iola asked.

  “No, just thankful.”

  The girl smiled back, and then glanced ahead. Looking for a certain officer of my bodyguard, I'll wager. Josey followed Iola's gaze through the woods. Every morning she sent small mixed groups of her soldiers and Eregoths to harry the invaders, and every evening she waited to hear the casualty reports. Although this new strategy of striking the enemy and fleeing before they could respond was safer, her forces were so few that each loss felt like a spike driving through her heart. She put a hand over her stomach. The bump was hard as old wood under the four layers of clothing she was wearing. We'll stop soon, little one. Sleep a little longer.

  The pregnancy hadn't bothered her much during this long march, but she worried just the same. Doctor Krav had warned her about extensive riding, but there was no time for weakness. She had to press onward.

  Brian pulled up beside her. They had been riding through most of the night, but if he was as tired as she was, he didn't show it. He was clean-shaven, his long hair tied back in a queue. “We should stop soon,” he said.

  “Yes. The men must be tired.”

  Josey looked away as the words she really wanted to say formed on the tip of her tongue. I like you. No, I care for you. Deeply. Heavens, I sound so stupid. He must think I'm a complete featherbrain.

  She still had his dagger strapped to her belt under her cloak, but now in the light of Hubert's letter it seemed…inappropriate. She carried Caim's child in her womb. She had no business flirting with this knight. Yet, when he looked at her…

  “These men would not complain if their legs were falling off,” Brian said. “They would die for you. As would I.”

  “Brian, I want to say…Well, it's just that you have been very-”

  Three horsemen rode back through the lines. Drathan and the Eregoth captain had their heads bent together in conversation, and it looked like Keegan was doing most of the talking. Hirsch rode a few steps behind them. The brim of his hat was pulled down low over weary eyes. The adept had insisted on traveling with the scouts, hardly ever stopping, as they searched for a location to make their next, and possibly last, stand. She hoped he found someplace soon, before they all dropped from exhaustion. Hirsch opened his mouth to speak, but Josey beat him to it.

  “When was the last time you slept, Master Adept?”

  “Yesterday. Or maybe the day before. How are you faring?”

  He didn't glance at her stomach, but Josey knew what he meant. “What have you found?” she asked.

  Captain Drathan gestured to the trees. “Beyond this wood, the hills of the east and west come together in a valley, Majesty. If the invaders keep coming in this direction, they'll have to pass through that funnel, or travel many leagues to go around.”

  “We will make sure the enemy comes this way,” Keegan said.

  “How can you be sure?” Josey asked.

  Keegan dug a hard roll out of a saddlebag. “Our men prick them at every turn. By now, they'll be eager to crush us and be rid of the nuisance. So we just need to bait the trap. The Thunder Lord came straight at us at Liovard, sent his men in waves until our defenses crumbled. Same as he did to you. He will keep driving straight south until he takes your capital. Or until he's stopped.”

  “So we can force him to give battle, but that's not enough. His forces outnumber ours.”

  “By ten to one,” Brian said. “At the least.”

  Hirsch patted the neck of his tired steed. “The valley ahead is the best place we've found. There's a stream that would make a good obstacle to blunt their advance. And the land south is generally flat.”

  So we can make a swift escape. “What about their sorcery, Master Hirsch? Can you defend us from it?”

  “That remains to be seen, lass.”

  Josey clamped down on a sigh threatening to erupt from her chest. If this was their best chance to stop the enemy, then so be it. “All right. That's where we will set up to meet them. I want lookouts posted in every direction for five miles.”

  Keegan raised an eyebrow, but he left with Captain Drathan to relay her orders. She had been worried that the high captain, being a northerner, might hold her sex against her. Yet so far he had been content to follow her lead. And Captain Drathan said he learned fast.

  Hirsch departed, too, but Brian remained at her side. Josey c
ould tell by his expression that he wanted to continue their conversation, but she didn't trust herself not to say the wrong thing. Her face grew warm just thinking about it, and then a sharp pressure pushed against her stomach. Josey dropped a hand to her middle without thinking. Was that a kick? She felt for it again, but nothing happened.

  “Majesty, do you wish to stop?”

  He sounded so sincere, Josey had to smile. She was about to answer when a horn bellowed to the south. It wasn't the one used by her scouts or the Eregoths. Had the enemy found a way ahead of them?

  Before she could react, Brian had slammed his helmet onto his head and was galloping away. He drew his sword and slipped his other arm through the straps of his shield as he guided his steed with his knees. Several of her bodyguard rode up to surround her. She looked around and found an officer. “Lieutenant Hillmund, find out what's happening!”

  He dashed off with a salute. Lightning stamped his hooves while Josey waited. Part of her wanted to rush ahead, but she reminded herself that she was an empress, not a soldier. Still, it was maddening to just sit here. Her impulse to know had almost overridden her better sense when a group of men on horseback rode out of the trees. She didn't see any blood on them, and their weapons were in their sheaths. She saw Hirsch and Brian with Captain Drathan, but the others were unfamiliar. Then she spotted a face she hadn't thought she'd see for months, if ever again. He smiled when their gazes met, his large white teeth shining in the gathering daylight. His hair was a little longer than it had been at court, brushing past his shoulders in silky black waves. He shook his reins and cantered ahead of the group.

  “Your Majesty!” he called as he approached. “We meet again.”

  Josey swallowed. “Lieutenant Walthom. This is a surprise.”

  She hadn't seen Walthom since she sent him and his cavalry unit to root out brigands in western Nimea.

  “Please, call me Dimas.” He tapped a pair of silver strips on his collar. “And I am a major now. Twice promoted on the battlefield for valor.”

  The rest of the party caught up. Captain Drathan came to her left side, and Brian to her right. “How is Lord Du'Quendel?” she asked.

  Major Walthom reached into his tunic. “He sends his regards and wishes he could be here, as well. But his infantry could not keep up with my light horse.” He pulled out a scroll and attempted to hand it to her, but Brian passed it to her. Josey couldn't help but notice the look he gave Walthom. It was almost possessive.

  Walthom frowned, but covered it with a fresh smile for her. “If I may say so, Majesty, you are a glowing vision after a long and difficult journey. We came as soon as we heard of the marchlanders' advance across the border. And your yeomen have been telling me about your unfortunate contact with these invaders.”

  “Yes. Many were lost.”

  Walthom placed a hand over his heart. “But now I am here, and we shall avenge our fallen brothers. These barbarians will taste the temper of our steel before we send them down to hell!”

  Josey had no idea what that even meant, but she nodded. “How many men did you bring, Major?”

  “Two hundred of the empire's finest cavalry!”

  “And how far behind are the footmen?”

  Walthom raised an eyebrow. “A sennight. Perhaps a few days more. But my light horse are more than capable of crushing these band-”

  “That's too long,” Brian said. “We can stall for two or three days at most.”

  “We could still make for Othir, Majesty,” Captain Drathan said.

  Major Walthom grasped the polished handle of his sword. “Now see here. I did not ride all this way just to turn tail and run. Majesty, we have come to fight.”

  Josey considered. Even with the addition of the cavalry, they didn't have near enough soldiers to match the invaders. But if they fled they would cede half of the empire, and possibly more.

  “Majesty?”

  “Ah, Major.” Hirsch cleared his throat. “Perhaps you would be so good as to inspect the site for the coming battle.”

  “Yes.” Walthom smiled at Josey and extended his hand. “I must go, my empress, but I shall return.”

  Brian pushed between her and Walthom. “Come, sir. The enemy approaches.”

  The major allowed the officers to steer him away with good grace. As they rode away, Brian looked back. Josey mouthed, “Thank you.”

  He winked as they passed under the trees.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Caim awoke to blinding light in his eyes. He blinked and squinted up at the three yellow globes on the ceiling. He sat on the floor in a tiny cell with his back against a wall; the room was so narrow he might have been able to touch the sides if his hands weren't shackled above his head. From the numbness in his hands, he guessed he had been here for some time. His head felt stuffed with wool. A sour taste lingered on his tongue. He shut his eyes, but the light intruded through the lids.

  He remembered entering the shadow woman's house, and the fight in the alleyway. Then he'd been hit with back-to-back shocks. To finally have Kit real and tangible, to hold her in his arms, and then have her snatched away by his enemies was like a vise squeezing his brain. And Dray…

  He tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. The cell wasn't especially cold, but he had a chill and a soreness in his chest. The only exit was a large iron door. There were no windows, no way of knowing where this cell was located, whether it was day or night. Caim shifted to ease his shoulder muscles, but there was no comfortable position. He looked up at the gray ceiling and noticed something else. There were no shadows. Not a single one anywhere. He was tempted to call for them just to see if any would appear, but the ache in his chest gave him pause. After killing the sorceress he had felt so powerful, so full of life, but that vigor was gone, replaced by emptiness.

  Caim was examining his shackles when the cell door rattled. Lightheadedness took hold of him as he turned his head, but it cleared as the door swung open, crashing against the inside wall, and four men entered. All wore black plate armor; two carried halberds with polished blades, and the other two had swords at their hips.

  The sight of the armor took Caim back to his father's estate. He could imagine them carrying his mother away. He let out a slow breath that burned his throat. The soldiers didn't speak as the two swordsmen came over and unlocked his fetters. Caim had a brief thought of resisting as they hauled him to his feet, but his legs buckled under his full weight and would have dumped him onto the floor if the soldiers hadn't caught him under his armpits. They dragged him out of the cell, the halberdiers following behind.

  Two shadow warriors awaited in the hall. Caim's hands itched to have his knives back again. Without a word, he was steered down the corridor, and the warriors fell in behind.

  Dim lamps were set high on the stone walls. Caim clenched and unclenched his fingers as the circulation returned. The soldiers carried him past other cell doors. Were they taking him to the Lord of Shadow? Caim smiled at the thought of being dragged into a majestic setting like the Grand Hall in Othir. He was dirty and disheveled, and he smelled gods-awful.

  Caim was yanked to a halt as his captors stopped before a broad iron door. With a knock it opened. As they maneuvered him inside, Caim got a good look at what awaited, and his stomach dropped. The room was small and dirty, lit by a brilliant globe hanging from the ceiling. A heavy wooden chair was bolted to the center of the cruddy floor. Restraint straps hung from its arms and legs. A table sat against the left wall with an assortment of sharp instruments. He tried to stand up on his own, but the soldiers manhandled him inside like he was a child.

  The door closed behind him with a deafening clang.

  Caim straightened out his left leg slowly-ever so slowly-and released a long groan as the tendrils of pain eased around his knee. At least I should be grateful it's not broken.

  He wasn't so sure about other parts. He opened his eyes and forced himself to look. Naked except for his breeches, he made for a gruesome sight in the brillian
ce of the globes above his cell. His knees looked like joints of meat from a butcher's shop. Half of his toes were burst open, nearly black with blood. Ribbons of skin hung from the back of his right hand; his fingers curled like bony claws crusted with blood. His pinky finger stuck out straight from the middle knuckle. His wrist was swollen and ringed with purple bruises. He tried to move it, and stopped when the pain became too much.

  He couldn't say how long the torture had gone on. The Northmen worked with quiet efficiency, applying the various instruments to him in turns. There were no questions asked, no demands made. Just pain.

  Afterward Caim was dragged back to his cell. Funny how he had come to think of this little room as his, taking ownership because he had nothing else to call his own. Nothing except a sliver of pride, and he suspected they would eventually take that, too.

  Caim stared up at the lights. He was exhausted, but they wouldn't let him sleep. He stared until his eyes ached and forced him to blink. Where were Kit and Malig? Were they even still alive? He tried not to think of that, but then his mind turned to Dray, devoured by shadows. And Aemon buried in a cold grave on the wastes. Their blood was on his hands as surely as if he'd killed them himself. And for what? He'd failed in his grand quest, no closer to the truth about his mother than he had been back in Othir.

  As he gazed into the lights, finding solace in the pain, a sensation intruded on his thoughts. It was mild at first, like an irritation on the fringe of his perception, but it grew with the passing minutes, transforming into a pleasant feeling that diminished the pain of his injuries. There was a presence behind this feeling, just beyond his awareness, but it comforted him. Kit, is that you?

  Caim's stomach clenched as the cell door rattled. He wanted to roll up into a ball, but forced himself to sit up. Four guards entered the cell. Caim couldn't tell if they were the same ones who had fetched him before or another quartet; they never talked or lifted their steely visors.