Shadow and Flame

by Gail Z. Martin

  At the edges of his perception, Connor could see the faint flashes of light deep below the water as Remon and his ghostly companions led the tanoba astray, keeping it near the surface but distracted from the rapidly closing ship. Can I see their light now because I allowed Remon to possess me? Connor wondered. Or because I have one foot in the grave myself?

  “We’re almost there,” Nidhud said, his voice taut. Dare I think a Knight of Esthrane is afraid? Connor wondered.

  Nidhud is talishte, but like all of us, he is still human, the Wraith Lord said. What has Penhallow told you about fear?

  I know what he’s said, that even now after centuries, he still feels fear. But I think I’d feel less of it if I were immortal.

  For yourself, perhaps, the Wraith Lord replied. But only then do you realize how fragile mortals are. Have a care what you wish for, Bevin. The gods have ears.

  Connor grew silent, duly chastened. It was taking all of his energy to remain upright and conscious. Zaryae murmured instructions to Whitney, using her foresight to recommend the safest course to get the Nomad in position for their strike.

  “Remon wants to know if you’re ready,” Connor said abruptly. “He doesn’t know if they can keep the tanoba occupied much longer without casualties.”

  “Give him our thanks,” Nidhud replied. “We’ll take it from here.”

  “Ready?” Whitney brought the ship around so that Nidhud and Connor had a view of the tanoba unobstructed by the ship’s masts or forecastle.

  “Well?” Nidhud looked to Connor, who gave a curt nod.

  “Do it,” Connor said.

  “Be ready. I can’t hold that thing out of the water for more than a few seconds,” Nidhud warned.

  With that, Nidhud made a gathering gesture, and Connor felt power coalescing, building to a steady, deafening crescendo of light and sound. At the same time, Connor could feel the Wraith Lord calling magic to him and filling his spirit with power so that for a heady moment, power drove out all fear and pain, obliterating exhaustion and weakness.

  Nidhud thrust out his right arm and made a grasping, scooping motion with his hand. As the dumbstruck sailors gawked and shouted on the lower deck, the tanoba rose from the water, held in Nidhud’s invisible grip. Water sluiced off the monster’s coils and the tanoba writhed, twisting and snapping its long, snakelike body from side to side to get free. For the first time, Connor truly understood the enormous size of the monster.

  “Now!” Nidhud rasped, strain clear in his face and voice.

  Now! Connor echoed.

  The Wraith Lord’s power surged through Connor like a lightning strike. Fire erupted from Connor’s outstretched palm, a blistering torrent of flame hot enough that Zaryae stepped back and the air shimmered like the heat of summer. The sailors on the main deck cried out in fear from the spectacle of the suspended tanoba and the fiery burst.

  The blast struck the monster, and flames fanned out along its gray, smooth hide. The beast gave an earsplitting shriek, twisting and bucking its muscular length against the force that held it away from its source of power. Nidhud’s face was tight with concentration, and his whole body was rigid with the effort.

  Flames bathed the tanoba with roaring heat, and the monster’s slick hide began to char and blister, sending an oily, foul-smelling smoke into the air. Great strips of blackened skin peeled from the creature as Connor kept the flames focused on the tanoba, drawing from the Wraith Lord’s presence and the kruvgaldur to remain on his feet. He remembered another mage who had perished sending a burst of flames from a damaged artifact. At least if I finish this, the ship can get through to Edgeland, Connor thought, willing himself to remain conscious.

  The Wraith Lord’s power flared, and the torrent of flame grew white-hot, so that the peeling flesh fell in cinders to the surface of the sea. The tanoba shrieked again, an alien, agonizing scream, and nearly twisted from Nidhud’s hold.

  “One more like that and I’ll lose him,” Nidhud warned through gritted teeth.

  Sweat ran down Connor’s face despite the brisk wind, and his entire being strained toward the direction of the firestorm. The muscles in his outstretched arm ached as if he held a heavy load. His shoulders and back seized and cramped, but he kept his attention focused on the blinding stream of fire.

  The creature gave one final scream, coiling tightly as the flames burned through skin to muscle and viscera. And then, with a shudder, what remained of the tanoba collapsed limply against the invisible bonds that held it.

  “Finish it,” Nidhud instructed grimly. “We have no idea whether or not it can regenerate once it’s back in the water.”

  Rarely had Connor seen one of the Knights of Esthrane show fatigue. Even more surprising was the sense he got of the Wraith Lord, of being stretched too thin. The Wraith Lord mustered his will, and one massive blast streaked from Connor’s hand, incinerating what remained of the monster. The flames did not subside until fine black flakes scattered on the waves.

  “I don’t care what that thing was, it’s not going to come back from that,” Whitney murmured, and Connor could hear a mixture of awe and primal fear in the captain’s voice. Below on deck, sailors cheered the victory and shouted praises to Charrot and his consorts.

  “Let him go!” Zaryae urged as Connor sagged against the railing. His clothing was soaked with sweat and he was trembling uncontrollably. Connor fell to his knees retching and would have collapsed facedown on the boards if Zaryae had not grabbed his shoulders.

  Well done, Bevin. This time, the Wraith Lord’s voice seemed faint and far away. But I fear I have pushed even your new strength to its breaking point.

  Connor heard a buzz of worried voices that grew more and more distant. He felt as if the fire had burned a trail through the core of his being, filling every vein and muscle with flames. It hurt to breathe, and he was so very tired. Every heartbeat drained what little strength remained. The world faded to black, so dark that even the stars did not shine. Then one by one, faint glowing lights pierced the darkness until they gathered like a fairy ring around Connor. He stared at the yellow pinpricks of lights, wondering how fireflies came to be so far out over the ocean. As he watched the flickering lights, at first smaller than a candle’s flame, one of them stretched until a man’s figure was clear. His skin was luminous, and the light appeared to glow from beneath his skin, shining with the warmth of a reading candle.

  Remon stood within the circle, near Connor’s feet. Connor found that he was lying on his back, but could not move. The pinpricks of light gradually expanded until a circle of glowing spirits stood encircling where he lay.

  Am I dead? Connor asked. The thought held no terror, not if in death he could finally rest.

  Nearly so. Remon’s voice was sad. We have come to stand vigil. Outside the circle, powerful forces are fighting.

  Monsters? Connor remembered enough of the battle to fear that more creatures like the tanoba might have appeared, and that his sacrifice might be in vain.

  Perhaps. Mortals and immortals. They fight over your soul. Can you not feel it?

  Connor tried to focus, but he was too exhausted to begin. No. I can’t feel anything outside the circle.

  Then rest, Remon said. We will watch over you.

  And if the monsters come? Connor peered into the darkness beyond the glowing lights, but it was as impenetrable as a curtain.

  Then we will honor your memory, Bevin Connor. Rest now, in peace.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  MONSTERS HUNTED HIM IN THE DARKNESS. THE toothy maw of the tanoba emerged out of the darkness, and the black emptiness of its mouth swallowed the horizon, engulfing him. He fell down the long shaft of the tanoba’s throat, and as he fell, the scene changed, becoming the oubliette beneath Quillarth Castle, prison to an ancient, insane talishte.

  Connor landed on the pile of bones that had once been Hemming Lorens and saw the dry bones and yellowed rags of clothing crumble to dust beneath him. Everything tilted, and when his vision cleared,
Connor was in the wet, stinking tunnels beneath the Rooster and Pig, running for his life through the darkness, chased by a huge black hound with long, sharp teeth.

  He ran from the barghest, feeling his lungs strain for air, slipping and falling and rising again in the slick, slime-covered tunnels far below the surface of Castle Reach. A glimmer of light caught his eye, and a door appeared at the end of the long, dark passageway. Connor hit the door with his full strength, slamming it open to find himself in Penhallow’s well-appointed crypt, which was outfitted like a wealthy man’s salon. Smoke was already curling around his legs from the passageway behind him. Once more, he was falling, bleeding, stumbling, and strong hands pulled him into another dark corridor, rocky and dank as the flames roared behind him…

  He roused to find himself confined to a pine box, buried alive, rocking in the water of an underground lake, hungry for air as the coffin banged and bumped on his journey through a subterranean river, scrabbling with his bleeding fingers against the wood. And then, the lid of the box opened, and overhead, green ribbons of fire twisted through the sky like a serpent, raining fire down on King Merrill’s castle. Bells clanged, insanely loud, and the green fire kept on falling as flames enveloped everything he knew…

  Connor awoke, or thought he did. He sat up in his bed, in the room at Quillarth Castle that was part of Lord Garnoc’s suite when they went to court to serve King Merrill. His hands patted down across his chest, the familiar nightshirt, the comfortable bedding beneath him. In the distance, he heard the castle bell tower chime the second hour of the morning, and he slipped out of bed, sure that he had heard his master’s call. The suite was the same as ever, with a writing desk, two comfortable upholstered chairs near the fire, and a small dining table, set for one. Lady Garnoc’s silver-framed portrait awaited her husband’s company. He crossed the sitting room and heard the call once more.

  “Connor.”

  By the glow of the fireplace, he could see Lord Garnoc sitting in his reading chair. Garnoc was white-haired and bent with his seventy years, but his blue eyes were clear and incisive. “Where have you been, boy? I’ve been calling you.”

  “Apologies, m’lord,” Connor said. “I didn’t hear you. But I’m here now.”

  “You’ve been gone a long time.” Garnoc’s voice was strong despite his years, just as Connor remembered it.

  “I’ve been away,” Connor replied. Something about the scene wasn’t quite right, but try as he might, Connor did not know what it was.

  “I gave you a job. Did you do it?”

  Now he remembered. A black disk with strange markings. A hidden map. And a trip through the night to visit a talishte lord. Connor extended his left arm. The sleeve of his nightshirt rode up to show the two faint white scars where the talishte had read his blood. “Yes, m’lord.”

  “Do you have a message for me? From Millicent?”

  Lord Garnoc’s beloved late wife, Millicent, had been a young woman when she sat for the painting, beautiful and full of life. Garnoc had never remarried, and he took a miniature of Millicent’s portrait with him everywhere. “Well, speak up, Connor! You can hear her now. What did she tell you?”

  “A dark message, m’lord. I fear to say it aloud.”

  Garnoc’s gaze was straightforward, but there was kindness in his eyes as well. “Don’t mince words. Tell me what she said.”

  “She said it won’t be long now,” Connor said with a catch in his voice. “That she’ll see you soon.”

  Garnoc took a deep breath, then sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Ah. I expected as much. Very well. I’ve missed her so much.” He peered at Connor with sudden intensity. “You’re going to move on, too. Can’t stay here. You don’t belong here anymore, do you?”

  “Where should I go?” Connor felt disoriented, lost and afraid. Leave the castle and Garnoc? They were all he knew. Yet that wasn’t true. There had been other places, other masters, he was sure there had been, but those memories were just out of reach.

  “Why, to the end of the world, m’boy. You’ve been there before.” Garnoc’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward urgently. “But listen here. This is important.” His gaze seemed to transfix Connor. “Stay away from Thrane. It will take everything you’ve got if you try to fight him, maybe too much. Mind now, and remember what I’ve told you.”

  Lord Garnoc’s face was lit by the firelight, light and shadows flickering over his features, so that his eyes appeared sunken, his cheeks hollow, and as Connor watched in horror, Garnoc’s skin stretched taut and his gray hair dulled. Garnoc’s fine garments faded and decayed, until what remained in the chair was a weathered corpse in tattered rags.

  Connor stumbled backward in terror, and something caught him behind the knees. He fell and kept on falling, but instead of the floor of his room at Quillarth Castle, everything around him was white and freezing cold. He could not tell down from up, left from right as he tumbled, and cold, wet snow filled his mouth and nose, threatening to suffocate him if he weren’t crushed or frozen first. On and on he fell in a white wave of snow, until at last he came to a stop in the darkness of an icy tomb.

  “Connor.” The voice was familiar, but far away. “Connor.” That voice again, closer now, joined by others this time. Small, glowing pinpricks of light, like distant stars, winked into life one at a time in the darkness, but their form was an unfamiliar constellation. Connor was used to the patterns of the stars he could see from Donderath, named for the shapes they formed of the high god Charrot, his consorts Torven and Esthrane, and the pantheon of lesser gods.

  These dimly glowing lights formed a line leading off into the distance. “Follow the lights, Connor,” a voice urged. “There’s work to do.”

  Cold and alone, Connor took one halting step and then another, keeping his eyes on the lights. The glow dimmed as he passed each one, so that darkness stretched behind him. Going back was not an option. Gradually, Connor realized that it was growing lighter. Full dark became dusk, and as the last few lights blinked out, Connor saw the first light of dawn above the horizon.

  When he returned his attention to the path, Remon’s ghost stood in front of him. “I promised I would see you safely on your journey,” Remon told him. “You must return now. Remain safe, Connor.” And with that, Remon’s figure wavered and faded, lost in the rising sun.

  Connor groaned and took a long breath. The first thing he noticed was the rocking of the ship, gently swinging him in his hammock. And in the next moment, it registered that his face was cold. The cold woke him, and his eyes opened. For a moment, he could not place where he was, and feared he was still dreaming. Then he realized that he was staring at the planks of the deck above him, still aboard the Nomad.

  “Are you back? It’s been long enough already.” Connor turned his head to see Verran watching from a seat on the hammock across from him.

  “How long has it been?”

  “Four days,” Verran replied. “Two days ago, Zaryae made us pour cold soup down your throat so you wouldn’t starve to death. The rest of us took turns sitting with you, which for most of the time meant listening to you fidget and mumble while you thrashed around like a wild man.”

  Verran cleaned his fingernails with a small knife. “You know, I lived with Mick and Piran for three years at the Homestead, and every night was like a seat at the freak show when those two dreamed about Velant. I didn’t bargain for a repeat performance.”

  “Neither did I,” Connor croaked.

  “Lie still,” Verran cautioned. “I’ll get in trouble with Zaryae if you fall out of your hammock. Borya and Desya got her to go up on deck and have a walk around. She’s been sitting with you night and day.”

  Verran paused. “We’ve still got a ways to go before we get to Edgeland. The crew is testy. Then again, we’ve had pirates, monsters, and ghosts almost before we were out of sight of land. They’re all glad you and Nidhud took care of the tanoba, but I don’t think we’re anyone’s favorite cargo.”

  “But we
’re still alive,” Connor pointed out. His mouth was dry and his muscles ached.

  “That’s true,” Verran conceded. “Let’s hope it stays that way. We’re going to have enough problems once we get to Skalgerston Bay.”

  To Connor’s relief, the rest of the voyage passed quietly. When the Nomad finally drew into Skalgerston Bay, he stood on deck with Zaryae and Verran, watching the port town come into view. Borya and Desya had spent most of the voyage up in the rigging helping the sailors, while Nidhud was down below in the hold, where he spent less and less time now that they were far enough north for the Long Dark to hide the sun.

  “I really never planned to come back here,” Verran murmured, his expression pensive.

  “Has it changed?” Zaryae asked, scanning the row of low log buildings along the waterfront. It was much as Connor remembered it, although he would be the first to admit that after just surviving a shipwreck, his attention had not been fully on his surroundings.

  “Not really,” Verran said. He lifted his face to the wind. “There was never much. A marketplace for selling whatever the homesteaders could raise. A few taverns and brothels, but most of them were for the sailors who crewed the convict ships. Can’t imagine that without the ships coming from home there’d be need for so many. A chandler and a cooper and a few other trades, the kinds of things the colonists need to get by. Looks like Ifrem and Engraham kept the Crooked House running,” he said with a nod toward one of the buildings, a tavern near the wharfs.

  “I mean, it’s been a year,” Verran continued. “Things don’t change fast up here.”

  It was cold by Donderath standards, balmy for Edgeland. Out on the ice they would need the heavy coats and boots they had brought, but right now, Connor was comfortable with just his cloak.

  “See that fort on the cliff?” Verran said, pointing to the silhouette of a ruined fortress on a forbidding bluff above the waves. The structure’s stone walls were charred in places, and many of the rocks had been toppled or smashed. “That’s Velant. That’s where Mick and the rest of us spent three godsforsaken years of our lives.” His voice carried a trace of bitterness, but it was not as hard-edged as Connor would have thought.