Shadowkings

by Michael Cobley

  "If we encounter genuine difficulty, I will give your request serious consideration."

  "I am comforted," Gilly said. "Truly, I am."

  They raced for the gap, slowing as they approached and in single file passed through at a swift canter. Beyond was a high-sided gorge with a stream that poured down to the valley. Upstream was a boulder-strewn slope and a jutting rock ledge. Without pause they turned away from the valley and rode along the shallow stream. Their pursuers were in the gorge by the time they reached the ledge and arows clattered on the rocks as they dashed away over the rise -

  And found themselves riding into a small Mogaun camp. Startled warriors shouted and leaped aside as they galloped through, scattering sparks from the campfire and knocking over a crude tent. Gilly was out in front and he looked back with a wild look in his face as he pointed to a copse off to the right from which more spear-wielding riders had appeared.

  "Is this dangerous enough for you?" Gilly said, glaring at Haidar. "Or has your courage failed you?"

  The sorcerer gave him a venomous look. "We are in the shadow of the Acolytes, child. Any use of my powers here would be as a blazing beacon in the night to their eyes. Now hold your tongue."

  Gilly flushed at this and Suviel spoke before he could reply.

  "We do not have time for such pleasantries," she said. "This way - follow!"

  She led them at a gallop away from the oncoming riders, down a bushy defile to where it joined a pass she was certain would bring them out near the edge of Prekine. She was right. The high, narrow walls widened to reveal sparsely wooded hills and a group of mountainous peaks beyond. There were also dozens of Mogaun on foot and on horse converging on the mouth of the pass, their whoops answered by others from above. Suviel slowed her horse to a trot and looked round to see more of the enemy up on either side of the pass. In despair she wheeled to confront Raal Haidar.

  "Help us," she said. "What else can we do?"

  When he refused to meet her gaze, she held back her anger, gathered what sense of inner calm she had and began the thought-canto of Cadence. She brought the elements together one by one, imagining it as a sequence of beads on a string, while constantly aware of the Mogaun coming nearer, their cries full of glee. She caught Gilly's eye.

  "Cover your ears," she said as she felt the canto gyre in her thoughts and the Lesser Power respond, an ebbing, a flowing, a pendulum surge mounting higher and higher. Her breathing slowed, deepened, the air chilling her mouth, nostrils and chest.

  "Now," she heard Keren whisper. "Now..."

  The Lesser Power swirled up through her, caressing her spine, enfolding her senses, rising to her throat as she opened her mouth, lungs full to bursting, ready to release it all in a single, shattering, unstoppable -

  And the power died within her.

  In horror she regarded the oncoming savages, then snapped her head round to stare at Raal Haidar. The sorcerer had his head bowed, hands held slightly away from his body, palms downward. One Mogaun warrior was ahead of the rest and as he came running towards them, grinning madly, spear cocked to throw, Haidar suddenly flung his hands upwards and the ground around them erupted. Suviel saw the Mogaun torn apart by the torrent of rock and soil as a fierce drone filled the air and made the air in her throat rasp. Her eyes vibrated in their sockets, a stinging that brought tears.

  Then the harsh sound was gone and a bone-white radiance bathed their surroundings. They were back in the desolate domain of Kekrahan, and the far-off immense cliffs Suviel had glimpsed before now towered above them, heights lost in cloud. Reining in her panicky horse, Suviel noticed Gilly riding towards her, down a barren slope, and heard howls in the distance.

  "The black creatures!" he cried. "There's scores of them heading this way."

  "Have you seen Keren and Haidar?"

  "No, but I did see packs of those things converging on the other side of that hill."

  The howls were getting closer as they rode madly for the hilltop. Suviel saw Keren and the sorcerer halfway up the opposite slope, fighting off dozens of the creatures, one with sword and shield, the other with red bolts of fire. Then she looked over her shoulder and saw that a hundred or more were almost upon them. She began the thought-canto of Ember and drew the long dagger she seldom used.

  "We'll have to make our stand here," she told Gilly. White-faced, the trader nodded and readied his blade as the first wave of creatures crested the hill...and raced right past them.

  "Why?..." Gilly said in confusion.

  Suviel stared in disbelief at the coursing mass of black forms, then across at where Haidar and Keren were hemmed in by scores of attackers scrambling over one and another. Then the sorcerer laughed, raised clenched fists above his head and hurled a wide scythe of fire at the nearest creatures. There was a crimson flash, a roar and smoke. When the smoke cleared, Suviel saw that the ground was covered in mangled yet bloodless remains of the creatures. And at the centre of the dreadful carnage stood Raal Haidar, one hand holding Keren tightly by the neck, the other oustretched. For a moment Suviel thought the sorcerer was helping her stand till she saw the swordswoman's weak and futile attempts to break free. Then as more of the black dog-things arrived and moved closer, the sorcerer's form began to change.

  Seams burst, garments ripped open and fell away in tatters. Shoulders widened and arms lengthened while the head grew large and reptilian. Muscles shifted beneath skin pebbled with scales of ebony and emerald. The hands became big and powerful, the fingers tipped with short, pointed talons. A pair of enormous, membranous wings spread from the great shoulders and an armoured tail lashed lazily to and fro.

  For Suviel recognition was immediate.

  "Daemonkind," she whispered in horror.

  The being tilted its head and warm golden eyes met her gaze across the intervening gap.

  "How pleasing to be remembered." Its voice was rich and deep.

  "Why are you here?" Suviel cried in anger. "Who called you?"

  "Not so pleasing, however, is your disrespect." Some of the black creatures ventured close to the Daemonkind who knocked them back with a sweep of one spiny wing. "Know this, insect, that I am Orgraaleshenoth, prince of the Israganthir, and that I will have my vengeance!" The Daemonkind reached out to point at Suviel. "And I will have what you seek, woman. I had thought to make use of you all in my plans - " He looked down at Keren who hung limply in his grasp. " - but on closer inspection I see that this one will be enough."

  A group of the black creatures moved towards the Daemonkind and were blasted into ruin.

  "So you're going to slay us," Suviel said with forced calmness.

  A dark grin came over that inhuman visage. "Ah, no – there are other choices more pleasing." He glanced up at the veiled heights of the cliffs. "But my bringing you here has attracted some unwelcome attention, so allow me to convey you both from this place." He looked at Gilly. "First you. Enjoy what is to come."

  "No, wait!..." Gilly began.

  Then his horse was empty. Suviel swallowed at the dryness in her throat, and wiped her perspiring hands on her cloak as she turned to face the Daemonkind prince. Keren was struggling against the fist that gripped her neck and Suviel's composure almost broke at the sight. In the name of the Mother! she thought in despair. I've failed us all.

  The cruel grin widened. "I know exactly where to send you."

  And suddenly she was plunged into darkness. For long, tormented moments Suviel thought that she had been blinded, then sight slowly came back. It was night and she was in a forest, sitting on wet, leaves under a thick canopy of vegetation that cut off even the faintest starlight. She stood, brushed decaying leaves from her robe and tried to guess where she might be. Then she was weeping, face bowed into her hands as the shock and grief of what had happened sank in.

  She drew a shuddering breath, held it for several seconds before releasing it in a long exhalation. She had to be in command of herself or she was truly lost. Suviel leaned against a mossy tree, letting the calming s
ilence of the forest imbue her thoughts with peace. Then she held her breath again, all motion frozen, her senses alert. There were voices, right at the edge of audibility.

  Carefully feeling her way, she moved towards the sound. She slipped and fell several times but a vague glow appeared through the foliage and slowly grew. Soon she could see the flicker of a campfire in a clearing and figures sitting round it. Caution asserted itself and she studied them through the leafy branches - most seemed to be men, apart from one who looked female with short fair hair and a rangy physique. Suviel could see only part of the woman's face since she was concentrating on the blade that was balanced on her knees, hands working its edge with a whetstone...

  Exhilaration and relief coursed through her at the sight of that familiar motion. Dizzy with joy she pushed aside the springy foliage to enter the clearing -

  Someone grabbed her from behind and kicked her feet from under her. Pain shot up her right arm when she hit the ground.

  "Who is this?"

  "I followed her, a spy maybe."

  "Please, no..." she gasped. "Keren! - it's me, Suviel..."

  Hands seized her roughly and hauled her onto her back. A ring of men stared down at her, faces hard with suspicion, then another came into view, the woman, Keren...

  ...but not Keren. She gazed at Suviel and recognition lit up her features, along with a smile of hungry satisfaction.

  "You!" Suviel whispered.

  Byrnak's creation, the mirrorchild Nerek, squatted beside her and said;

  "Retribution has begun."

  * * *

  Everything vanished with savage abruptness, and for an instant Gilly Cordale felt as if the very air was being sucked from his lungs. For one black, terrifying instant…

  Then it was light and he was rolling down a steep slope of dry earth and pebbles, fighting to find a grip or even to slow his descent. To no avail. With his clothes covered in dirt, his mouth full of grit and his senses aspin, he came to a halt at the foot of the slope. Cursing, he spat out a few tiny rock fragments and lurched to his feet to discover that he was at the bottom of a dried-up flood gully.

  He had to find Keren and Suviel. There was no telling what direction he should take, but that monster could not have sent him very far. So he hoped.

  A low, rumbling sound caught his attention and as it grew louder he recognised the sound of horses' hooves at the gallop.

  Could be riders, he thought. Could be friendly, but my luck has been unreliable, lately...

  Then a close-packed group of riders appeared at a bend in the gully, and let out a chorus of gleeful howls as they spotted him.

  They were Mogaun. Gilly took one look then leaped to scramble up the way he had come. But he was only a short way up when a stretch of pebbly soil slid away beneath and sent him back down in a cascade of earth.

  The horses were very near. He could feel the vibration of thudding hooves in the ground and as he struggled to get up he could see them mere yards away, with the malicious grinning stares of their riders fixed only on him.

  Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a bony, grey-haired man clad in furs stepped in front of the oncoming riders and threw up his arms with an accompanying shout. The horses shrieked in terror. Many reared and a few riders were thrown, while others lost their footing or were reined aside in time. All the while, the elderly man just stood there, untouched by the pandemonium he had caused.

  As the Mogaun brought their mounts under control, the man lowered his arms and turned to regard Gilly with sharp eyes.

  "I am Atroc, Yasgur's eye-in-the-dark," he said. "And I have been waiting for you, Gilly Cordale."

  Part Two

  Chapter Thirteen

  Amid ancient glories overcast,

  And treasures gone in fire and wrath

  He scribes his lawless passage

  Under skies veiled by ghosts.

  —Avalti, Augronac's Lament

  With the towering massif of the Arengia Plateau at last within sight, Byrnak let his mount walk a few more paces beyond the tree line before reining in to sit and savour the view. Dense forest clung all along the base of sheer, pitiless cliffs. Flocks of small birds swirled and fluttered from treetop to treetop in pursuit of insects or fruit. As Byrnak watched, a larger winged shape fell like a stone out of the upper air and into the middle of one such flock, seizing its prey and swooping away to devour it in some barren higher perch.

  Byrnak smiled grimly and turned his gaze eastwards, searching for signs of the encampment which was his destination. He had never been here before, yet everything he saw stirred recognition in him. Had Hegroun played host to the spirit of his god before and after the final battle? Byrnak thought that might account for his certainty that this trail dipped down between low hills to a fork, one branch curving north to join a road which came up from central Yularia, while the other continued east to meet the March Way, a wide track which linked the fishing towns of Mantinor with Ebro'Heth. And there was an easily defensible small bluff near the cliffs no more than half a day's ride from here, which would make an ideal camp...

  He inhaled noisily, irritated by a sense of familiarity he could not share. It had begun to be wearing during the trip north through Khatris, the immense open skies of the central plains, the huge weathered natural stone columns of Pillar Moor, the ancient quarries of the Ogairn Mountains gaping like black wounds - everything held the resonance of old, old memories lingering just beyond recall. Occasionally, visions would impress themselves upon him, complete with smell, taste, and the feel of rain or sun or wind on his skin. And as he sat there on his horse, staring moodily across at the plateau, one such vision struck him like a blow, filling his eyes and skull, entrancing his mind for a passing instant.

  Swaying in his saddle, head lowered as he rubbed one hand across his face, he heard the thud of hooves behind him, another rider approaching at a walk.

  Byrnak straightened, gaze smouldering with a low anger. "Obax," he said. "Look out at all this and tell me what you see."

  "I see the plateau, Lord."

  "Yes. And?"

  "...Trees, a wide forest, hills, a stream..."

  "And living things, Obax?"

  "Why, there would be creatures, Lord, birds, foxes, mice, fish - "

  "I'll tell you what I have seen," Byrnak said. "Endless fields of mud and bloodied stone, a wrecked, ruined land, gouged and poisoned, a livid plain of filth where people writhe like worms amid decay." He let out a single harsh bark of laughter. "The realm of obliteration!"

  And so saying he dug his heels into his horse's flanks and rode furiously down the trail, lashing it faster, as if he could escape that glimpse of desolation. For in his mind it was as if he had been shown all that would be left of himself, the self that was Byrnak, when all the Shadowkings were gathered together and the Lord of Twilight was made whole again.

  He could sense that nebulous presence hanging at the back of his thoughts now. His taut, harried mind often gave it fleeting, changeable forms, sometimes a hulking, simian shape without a face, or other times a shadowy carrion bird, watching, waiting. But always it was leaking deranged notions into his thoughts, like a black rivulet of something beyond evil which now and then burst forth in elaborate visions.

  His horse had slowed of its own accord in its headlong rush and he brought it to a halt beneath an overarching tree where he waited for Obax to rejoin him. He watched the Acolyte's approach, discerning a look of satisfaction on that long, white-eyed face. Byrnak knew that his fits and fugues gave Obax great pleasure, being harbingers of the Great Prince's steady emergence and eventual triumph, and revealed as little of his inner torment as possible. Usually.

  "Are you well, Lord?"

  Byrnak's stare glittered with anger. "Seeking weakness, Obax? Delusions? Wanderings of the mind, perhaps? There is nothing for you to find."

  The Acolyte gave a gracious bow of the head which somehow failed to display subservience. "On the contrary, Lord, your continued good health is most grat
ifying. It serves our common goal."

  The milky orbs of his eyes seemed to look through him, and Byrnak toyed with the idea of striking this withered old snake down with a look of despite. But that would make him appear foolish and uncontrolled to his brothers, the four other Shadowkings. No, now was not the time. Besides, it might not be easy to find another Acolyte capable of carrying him into the Realm of Dusk.

  "Do not presume to lecture me, Obax," he said with the right amount of soft malice in his voice. "Keep your life simple and free from harm."

  Then he urged his horse back onto the trail at a light canter, thinking: Let destruction come and take it all, let desolation reign everywhere but in my mind.

  And a dark form shifted across the backdrop of his thoughts, a shadow among shadows, silent and watching.

  * * *

  The eastward trail widened to a stony cart road which ran through acres of wild woodland where fingerthorn vied with dog-ivy for mastery of the undergrowth. Then the way rose and fell across a succession of bushy ridges, from which they had glimpses of mile upon mile of forest with the occasional rocky outcrop or clear width of a lakelet interrupting the undulating dark green.

  It was late afternoon when they saw the first signs of the encampment, tails of campfire smoke rising above the trees. As they drew nearer, open and undisguised along the road, a Mogaun patrol emerged from a mass of foliage, spears levelled, bows at the ready. When they got a closer look at Obax and Byrnak, the warriors forgot their challenge and knelt to press their foreheads into the dust of the road.

  "Hasten before us to your camp," said Obax sternly. "Tell your chiefs that the Great Lord Byrnak has arrived."

  The patrol's leader raised his head. "I hear and obey, high ones!" He urged his warriors to their feet, sent one scampering off towards the camp, then gave the newcomers a crisp bow before taking his men back into the forest cover.

  It took another half an hour to reach the encampment, and Byrnak frowned as he surveyed it. There was indeed a low bluff, part of a spur jutting from the looming plateau cliffs which over all. Fast streams fed by waterfalls ran either side and came together in a wider watercourse which flowed away into the forest. However, the main body of Mogaun tents, many hundreds of them, had been pitched on the ground around the bluff, protected on the south by a partial stockade wall. On the bluff itself sat a large tent clearly made from several canopies, and surrounded by a handful of smaller ones. A single huge banner hung motionless over the entrance, the device that of a green flame on a red background.