Iron Image

by Jonathan Moeller

  “You hated him, I understand.”

  “I did,” I said, old memories burning with pain in my mind. “But that is immaterial. I have a mission. The Knight of Grayhold’s office is to defend Earth from the Dark Ones. The task of the Family is to hunt down the Dark Ones’ servants and other rogue creatures. We don’t have to like each other to work together against our foes.”

  “How can the Knight of Grayhold assist your task?” said Kathromane.

  “I can’t find Connor,” I said. “His security is too good, and he moves around too much. The High Queen has given me a means of disguising myself that no spell can detect.” I felt the weight of the bracelet in the pouch at my belt. “But that does me no good if I can’t find Connor. Homeland Security can’t find him, and neither can the Inquisition. But if anyone can locate him, it is the Knight of Grayhold and his friends the Graysworn.”

  “A good plan, I think,” said Kathromane. “The Knight has the resources to help you. And I can get you to Grayhold. Or close to Grayhold, anyway. Travel in the Shadowlands is imprecise at best.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” I said. “The Family, as always, is grateful for your help.”

  “But before I give it,” said Kathromane, rising to her feet, “I wish to ask you some questions.”

  I braced myself. I had been expecting this.

  “Certainly, my lady,” I said.

  “Why?”

  I blinked. “Why what?”

  “Why take this mission?” said Kathromane.

  “It is as you have stated,” I said. “Connor must be stopped.”

  Kathromane smiled. It was an unsettling expression on that alien face.

  She reached up and started unwinding the blindfold.

  “All this is true. But that is not the reason why you have taken this mission,” Kathromane said.

  She removed the blindfold, and I saw her eyes.

  They burned with silver fire, some of the fire spreading into the blood vessels of her face.

  I don’t know what had happened to Lady Kathromane’s eyes. They constantly glowed with silver fire, and whenever those eyes fell upon someone, they felt a tense, electric buzzing inside their heads. I felt that buzzing as the entirety of that ancient and powerful mind turned its attention to me. I didn’t know how Lady Kathromane’s vision worked, but the Firstborn had said she perceived time as a physical dimension, just as normal human eyesight could perceive the dimensions of depth and length.

  “Tell me the truth, Riordan MacCormac,” said Kathromane. “Why have you taken this mission?”

  I took a deep breath. It would have been foolish to lie to her. “A woman.”

  “Ah.” A faint smile went over her face. “I thought it might be. How does killing Connor have anything to do with this woman?”

  “She…is in his power,” I said. “I don’t know why or how.”

  “Explain.”

  I took another deep breath. “I have failed before.” That wasn’t quite what Kathromane had asked, but I kept speaking. “You know I was married once, that there was another woman after her.” Kathromane inclined her head. “I thought there would never be anyone else. But then I met her…and I have failed her. I cannot rest easy until I know she is safe.”

  “And you cannot rest until she is reunited with you?” said Kathromane, raising her gray eyebrows. Her eyes were infernos of silver flame.

  “That doesn’t matter,” I said. “So long as she is safe. Then she can do as she wishes.”

  “You are a romantic, Mr. MacCormac,” said Kathromane.

  “So people keep telling me.”

  She smiled. “I read your last three books, Malcolm Lock.”

  “Ah,” I said. I didn’t ask what she thought of my books. When it came to my books, I never acknowledged nor responded to criticism, nor asked people what they thought. When carrying out matters of life and death in my work for the Shadow Hunters, I always listened to criticism and considered it. When it came to writing, I did as I wished. “I don’t intend my books as deep meditations, my lady. Just as entertainment.”

  “And in those books, the hero undertakes great risks to rescue a woman, haunted by a failure of his past,” said Kathromane.

  “I don’t base my books on anything except Earth’s history,” I said. The Crusades and the Dark Ages were an excellent setting for an adventure story.

  “Yet they are a mirror to your mind nonetheless,” said Kathromane.

  She gazed at me for a moment, her expression sad.

  “She does love you,” she said at last.

  “How would you know that, my lady?” I said.

  She smiled. “The shadow your aura casts upon the river of time. You love her. I can see it in your aura. But she loves you as well. Else your aura would be different. How would your scientists say it? Love has a…quantum nature, that is it. It leaves its mark upon both lover and beloved. Ah, Riordan MacCormac. I remember what it was to be loved, long, long ago, before the Archons slew my husband. Life makes fools of both humans and Elves. We go to war for so many reasons. You go to war not to stop the Rebels or to save the High Queen, but because you fear for this woman you love, that she will suffer and die as the women you loved in the past.”

  “Perhaps I am a fool,” I said.

  “No,” murmured Kathromane. “There are far worse reasons to go to war. Perhaps God will watch over you for it.”

  “I hope He will, my lady.” I knew only a little of Elven religion. They worshiped one God and believed He had sent a figure called the Lord Protector to them, but beyond that I knew nothing. Except, of course, that the Archons worshiped the Dark Ones.

  “I will help you, then,” said Kathromane. “I can open a rift way to the Shadowlands. The Knight’s power is great enough that I cannot get you to Grayhold proper. I suggest you hurry to his boundaries at once. The creatures of the Shadowlands are not to be trifled with.”

  “Thank you, my lady.” I bowed again.

  She wound the blindfold back over her silver eyes, and the buzzing vanished from my head. Kathromane turned and cast a spell. A sheet of gray mist rolled up from the deck, ten feet by ten feet, and pale white light leaked through it.

  “Go,” said Kathromane as she seated herself once more.

  I took a deep breath, cleared my mind, and walked through the rift way.

  The world blurred and twisted around me, and I stepped from Kathromane’s deck in upstate New York and into the Shadowlands, the infinite place that stretches between all worlds.

  I found myself in a strange, twisted forest. The trees were black and glistening with slime, the leaves like blades of obsidian. The sky was utterly black and starless, and peculiar ribbons of blue and purple and green fire writhed overhead. Magical power surged through me, a consequence of the stronger magical nature of the Shadowlands, and if I cast any spells, I had to be careful not to accidentally kill myself. Here and there menhirs rose from the ground, their weathered sides carved with odd glyphs. About a hundred yards away I saw a gray obelisk adorned with glowing symbols, an obelisk that marked the boundaries of the Knight’s demesne of Grayhold.

  Kathromane had kept her word, and dropped me at the boundaries of Grayhold.

  Unfortunately, she had also dropped me in the middle of a pack of anthrophages.

  Anthrophages were creatures of the Shadowlands, native to the umbra of Earth, the shadow that Earth cast into this realm. Perhaps they were twisted reflections of humans. They were human-shaped, but gaunt and twisted, their skin like greasy gray leather. Black spines jutted from their backs and limbs, and black fangs filled their mouths and black claws sprouted from their fingers and toes. Anthrophages were clever and dangerous and strong, but they were vulnerable to bullets and blades forged from the metals of Earth. Creatures from the deep Shadowlands were vulnerable only to magical spells, but creatures from Earth’s umbra could be harmed by the weapons of Earth’s steel.

  Which meant that when I yanked my sword from its scabbard and whipped
the blade in a two-handed swing, my blow took off the nearest anthrophage’s head in a spray of black slime. The creature fell dead at my boots, and I retreated, sword hilt grasped in both hands. The remaining four anthrophages prowled after me, spreading out to encircle me. Likely the anthrophages had come to investigate the opening of the rift way, not expecting to be attacked.

  Now they would overwhelm and kill me. And then eat me, likely before I finished dying.

  Unless I changed the terms of the engagement.

  I drew on my Shadowmorph, the creature of the Shadowlands bonded to me, and its strength filled me. I surged forward with greater speed than my muscles would allow, and I swung my sword with greater strength than a normal human. I avoided the grasping claws of the anthrophages and took off the head of another creature. The remaining three creatures sprang at me, and I dodged, but the swipe of their claws knocked the sword from my hand. I didn’t have time to grasp it again, I didn’t have time to load my crossbow, and I didn’t even have time to cast a spell.

  Instead, I drew on my Shadowmorph. The creature responded, and in my right hand appeared a four-foot long blade of pure shadow, a physical manifestation of my Shadowmorph symbiont. It could cut through almost anything, and I used it to do just that, slashing through the nearest anthrophage. It fell in pieces to the ground, and the second anthrophage raked at me. Its claws opened my left forearm in a wave of agony, but I had been in too many fights to let the pain stop me. I sliced the anthrophage in half and turned to face the sole remaining creature.

  It started to turn, no doubt intending to flee and summon aid, but I lunged forward and hamstrung it. The anthrophage fell on its face with a shriek of pain, and I stabbed down and finished it off.

  Silence returned to the forest of twisted trees.

  And as it did, strength and vigor flooded through me.

  My Shadowmorph fed on the harvested life forces of the anthrophages I had slain and some of that power passed to me. I concentrated and directed it towards my forearm, watching the wound shrink and vanish. For an instant, I felt euphoric, but I banished the sensation at once.

  For that was the danger of hosting a Shadowmorph.

  My Shadowmorph gave me inhuman strength and speed and an extended lifespan, but it feasted on life energy, any life energy. Since I was a Shadow Hunter and spent much of my time hunting the creatures of the Shadowlands, that wasn’t a problem. But if I allowed the euphoria to rule me, it would become addictive. I would lose control. I had spent nearly three-quarters of a century with my Shadowmorph, and I was used to controlling it.

  But Sasha had not been able to handle it. She had become addicted to the euphoria and had started murdering people to feed her Shadowmorph and to gorge herself upon stolen life force. I had confronted her, trying to stop her, and she had tried to kill me in a rage…

  No, I could not think upon that. Not now. Sasha was beyond all help. Nadia was not.

  My wound closed, but I still felt far more vigorous than usual. I decided to put that to use and get moving. Anthrophages generally traveled in far larger packs than just five, so the creatures that I had just killed had likely been scouts for a larger group.

  Best to be gone by the time their friends showed up.

  I jogged through the forest, and soon I passed the gray obelisk with its glowing symbols. A shiver went through me as my Shadowmorph responded to the change in the Shadowlands’ potent magical aura.

  I had just crossed into the demesne of Grayhold.

  That meant I was safer (though not completely safe) from the creatures of the Shadowlands. The Knight kept order in his demesne. Unfortunately, it also meant I was now completely in the power of the Knight of Grayhold. Jacob Temple could not leave his demesne, but within those boundaries, he had near absolute power.

  I didn’t think he would kill me out of spite, but I had been wrong before.

  I ran on, watching for enemies.

  ###

  About an hour later I came to the town of Redgate.

  This might surprise people, but there are towns in the Shadowlands.

  Not large ones, and not many, but they do exist. The towns are in the demesnes of the lords of the Shadowlands, who are the only ones strong enough to protect the towns from the anthrophages and other creatures. Sometimes people flee to the Shadowlands to get away from dangers on Earth or other worlds, and take refuge in the towns of the various lords. The towns can be quite pleasant if the lord of the demesne is not an insane tyrant.

  To Jacob Temple’s credit, he’s not an insane tyrant despite his other flaws, and the towns of Grayhold were some of the safer places in the Shadowlands. Over each town, he appointed a bailiff to rule in his name, and the bailiffs were powerful wizards. They also had the ability to contact the Knight himself, and in the lands of Grayhold, the Knight was invincible.

  As strong protectors went, I suppose people could do worse.

  The town of Redgate sat atop a low hill. Beyond it, I saw foothills, and then the massive, craggy mountains that held the citadel of Grayhold itself. Redgate was far smaller, a town of about a thousand people huddled within a wall of blood-colored stone. It looked like a town out of Earth’s medieval or ancient past, with houses built of timber and mortared stone, peaked roofs rising against the black sky.

  Armed guards stood atop the gate, crossbows in hand. I strode to the closed gate and waited, my hands held up before me. I felt the hard eyes on the guards on me. I looked human, of course. And while I really was (mostly) human, there were plenty of things in the Shadowlands that were not human but could take human guise.

  “Stranger,” called one of the guards, an old man in scavenged armor. “Name yourself.”

  “My name is Riordan MacCormac,” I said. I didn’t like giving my real name, but lying to the Knight’s emissaries was a bad idea. “I seek an audience with the Knight of Grayhold, and hope to speak to one of his officers to arrange such an audience.”

  “Wait here,” said the guard, and he disappeared beneath the battlements.

  I waited. It took about an hour.

  After that hour had passed, the gate opened a few feet, and the bailiff of Redgate stepped forth.

  He was an old, old man in an archaic-looking black robe with falls of white lace upon the cuffs on his sleeves and at his throat. His head was completely hairless, without even eyebrows, and his face looked like a skull draped in wrinkled skin. Nevertheless, the blue eyes were cold and sharp and clear and regarded me without blinking.

  “Riordan MacCormac?” said the robed man, his voice resonant and deep.

  “I am,” I said. “I presume I have the honor of addressing the bailiff of Redgate?”

  “You do,” said the robed man. “My name is Jaercan. Come. We shall palaver, you and I, and see what might be learned from one another.” A malicious note entered the deep voice. “For my master the Knight left specific instructions about you.”

  “I see,” I said, keeping the grimace from my face.

  We walked perhaps a hundred yards from the town, stopping at the base of a twisted, leafless tree. Jaercan sighed and rolled his shoulders, the black robe stirring around him.

  “So, Shadow Hunter,” said the bailiff. “Perhaps you will tell me why you seek an audience with the Knight of Grayhold.”

  “I have come to ask the Knight’s help against our mutual foes,” I said.

  “Explain,” said Jaercan.

  His imperious manner grated on me, but I kept myself calm. “The High Queen has commissioned the Family to kill Nicholas Connor, the leader of the Rebels. The Rebels, as you no doubt know, have made an alliance with the Knight of Venomhold, the Archons, and the cults of the Dark Ones. The Knight of Grayhold has long been an enemy of both the Dark Ones and Venomhold. I ask the Knight’s help in finding Nicholas Connor and inserting myself into his organization.”

  Jaercan sneered. “Does not the High Queen command every national police force on Earth? Does the Inquisition not serve her? Let them find Connor.”<
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  “They can’t find him,” I said. “If they could, I would not be here.”

  “Indeed,” said Jaercan. “Your cause is a worthy one, Shadow Hunter. But are you worthy of it?”

  I shrugged. “That is what I endeavor to find out.”

  “I think you are not worthy of the Knight’s help,” said Jaercan. “For my master the Knight has told me of your failures.”

  “Which ones?” I said.

  “How you murdered your wife and your lover.”

  Anger flashed through me, and I let it out in a long breath.

  “And what did the Knight say on this topic?” I said.

  “That you were married to a woman and slew her,” said Jaercan. “That after she had died, you replaced her with another woman, and then slew her. Perhaps the stories are true, and the Shadow Hunters prey upon the innocent. Even their own lovers.”

  “No,” I said. “That’s not what happened at all.”

  “And now the pattern repeats itself with Nadia Moran,” said Jaercan.

  More anger rolled through me, and I held it back. The Knight knew about Nadia. She had stumbled into his plans during the Rebel attack on Madison, and the Knight’s influence had helped her when we had gone to Venomhold to steal the Nihlus Stone from Rosalyn Madero. I hadn’t known, however, that the Knight knew about my relationship with Nadia.

  Well. My former relationship, anyway.

  “No,” I said. “That’s why I’m here. I…”

  “I thought you were here to find Nicholas Connor,” said Jaercan.

  “I am,” I said. “But the reason I took the commission was to find Nadia. She’s fallen into his power somehow. I promised…I promised her that I would help her.”

  “Perhaps she merely wanted to get away from you before you slew her as you killed your wife and lover,” said Jaercan.

  “Maybe she did,” I said, fighting to keep the anger under control. “I didn’t murder my wife and lover, but I did kill them in self-defense. The failure was mine. I should have seen it coming. I should have found another way. I should have…Nadia was right to leave me. But I cannot rest until I make sure she is safe. Then she can do as she wishes. But I won’t leave her in the power of someone like Connor.”