In the Empire of Shadow

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  “So hasty, mistress… Are you certain, then?”

  “We all are,” Pel said, stepping up beside Amy. Susan was a few feet behind; Ted had wandered off to inspect one of the trees.

  “I’ve no wish to keep you ’gainst your will,” Raven said. “I promised you could return to your homes, and I meant that promise—but are you certain that you’re of no use here? Mistress Susan, that device you carry—methinks that’s of good service.”

  “The gun?” Susan tugged at the strap of her purse. “Raven, I only have… well, it’s very limited. If you send us home, though, we can give you lots of guns, lots of ammunition—better stuff than this.”

  “Aye? Truthfully?” Raven eyed her thoughtfully.

  “Absolutely,” Pel said.

  “Then indeed, ’twould be folly to keep you,” the nobleman said emphatically, “and I’ll be sending you to your Earth at the first hour I may.”

  “Why not now?” Amy demanded. “Tell Valadrakul to send us!”

  Raven turned to the wizard, who held up his hands. “Messires, mesdames, methinks you mistake the situation,” Valadrakul protested. “I’ve no power to send you home.”

  The three Earthpeople present stared at him in outraged silence. Somewhere a bird whistled, the first that Prossie had heard since her previous visit to Faerie.

  “Why not?” Amy demanded. “You’re a wizard, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, aye, I’m that,” Valadrakul agreed, “but I know naught of the portal spell.”

  “Elani knew it!” Pel shouted.

  “Indeed she did,” Valadrakul affirmed. “And she mastered it well, caught it in the structure of her magicks. But I know it not; the webs of my work are otherwise. I’m learned in the spells of fire and destruction, magicks that send forth the raw energy of magic in fiery outbursts; likewise, I know the spells that send forth and draw in in other ways, and have caught the strands of those in me. But the spells that shape worlds, that link the several realities, those I ken not a whit.”

  “But Elani did!”

  “Aye; in that, she was far my better. The worse for us, that she’s no more.”

  Prossie heard all this with growing unhappiness. She had not consciously known that only Elani knew the portal spell, but somehow she felt none of the shock the Earthpeople felt; perhaps she had telepathically sensed the truth, on some subconscious level, back at Base One.

  Still, it was very bad news.

  And while Valadrakul was admitting his impotence, Carrie had received Prossie’s report and was relaying parts of it to General Hart and Under-Secretary Bascombe. Prossie suspected, from the flavor of Carrie’s thoughts, that it was not going over well.

  That was no surprise. Hart and Bascombe did not want anyone coming home bearing tales of disaster and incompetence.

  Well, it looked as if they might not have anything to worry about; without magic, it appeared that no one was going to leave this universe. The Empire’s own space-warp was up above treetop level, where they couldn’t get at it. Dibbs and his men were not going home any time very soon—and neither, that meant, was Prossie.

  “Raven,” Amy demanded, “where can we find another wizard who knows the portal spell?”

  “I’ve not the slightest notion,” Raven replied. “Wizardry is none of mine.”

  “Valadrakul?” Pel asked.

  The wizard frowned deeply, then winced as the movement affected his injured jaw.

  “The brotherhood of magicians is scattered and broken in these sad times,” he said. “A handful survives here, another there, but we’ve no central councils, no trustworthy messengers, canny or otherwise. For the most part, we dare not use the greater lines of power, for those are Shadow’s. The portal spells are likewise Shadow’s; they were stolen from Shadow, and taught quickly to those few who could learn them well, who could draw down those strands from the web of powers; there was Elani, and likewise Taillefer, who served us betimes, but of others, I know not. ’Twas thought unwise that any should know too much of others’ skills, lest we be captured and questioned by Shadow.”

  Prossie nodded slightly to herself; she had known that. While the wizards didn’t follow the system of revolutionary cells as carefully as the other members of the resistance did, they did keep plenty of secrets.

  “This Taillefer,” Pel asked, “where can we find him?”

  Valadrakul considered that carefully.

  “You don’t know,” Amy said. “Do you?”

  “Nay,” Valadrakul admitted, “I do not.”

  The Earthpeople accepted that, but Prossie, watching Valadrakul carefully, wondered if the wizard might be concealing something. She was no expert at reading facial nuances, really, because she had never had to resort to such crude methods in her own universe, but still, something seemed wrong about Valadrakul’s answer.

  Could she be remembering something she had learned from Valadrakul’s mind earlier, without realizing it?

  “Well, damn it, if you can’t find him, we better start looking for him!” Amy shouted.

  “You go right ahead,” Dibbs said. “Meanwhile, I’ll be rounding up my men and calling for pick-up. Wilkins, Moore, Dawber, I want you three to take a look around, see if you can spot any sign of where our missing men went. Stay in sight, we don’t know what’s out there; you see anything moving, you call it in, don’t play hero.”

  “Right, Lieutenant,” Wilkins said. He picked a direction and started walking; the other two Dibbs had chosen followed him.

  “Uh… permission to speak, sir?” Prossie said uneasily, glancing after the three.

  “What is it, Thorpe?” Dibbs stepped away from the rest of the group, and Prossie followed.

  “I’m not sure there’s going to be a pick-up, sir.”

  “You aren’t,” Dibbs said. “Why not?”

  Prossie hesitated, wishing she felt better and stronger; what she really wanted to do was curl up somewhere and rest, not argue.

  But she had to warn Dibbs if she could.

  The real reason she was fairly sure there would be no pick-up was that Bascombe had shown her once before that he felt no compunction about abandoning a failed mission, rather than risking further complications; the Under-Secretary had left Prossie and the rest of Joshua Cahn’s crew in jail on Earth without a second thought, and in that case there hadn’t even been evidence of incompetence or mismanagement, where the current expedition had been a disaster right from its inception.

  Telling Lieutenant Dibbs this did not seem like a good idea, though. He didn’t like cynics—and for that matter, he didn’t like telepaths. A telepath accusing a superior of callous political gamesmanship was asking for trouble.

  “Technical reasons, sir,” Prossie said.

  Lying really wasn’t very hard at all, she was finding, despite all her years of training.

  “Go on.”

  “The Department of Science has confirmed earlier theories, sir—anti-gravity cannot operate outside normal space. This world we’re on is not in normal space; that’s why Christopher went down. And any rescue ship would lose all lift, too. We’d need a vehicle that can fly in the distorted space here, and Base One hasn’t got any. So they can’t pick us up.”

  “You sure of that, Thorpe?”

  Prossie hesitated. She had sinned once; she would resist the temptation this time. “It’s not relayed, sir, it’s my own conclusion,” she said.

  Dibbs nodded slowly. “Got a reason they can’t just drop a rope through that space-warp up there, Telepath?” he asked sarcastically.

  “No, sir,” Prossie answered truthfully. She had no idea whether a rope was possible or not. She could see no reason that it would not work, but then, she didn’t understand space-warp science. If the warp was as open as that, wouldn’t air from Faerie be boiling off into Imperial space right now?

  She didn’t know. Maybe a rope would work.

  But she was quite sure nobody would be sending one.

  * * * *

  “As you w
ish,” Raven said, with a tight little smile. “We’ll away, then, in pursuit of Taillefer. For that, we must make our way westward, as there lies the fastest route from these woods, to clear air where Valadrakul’s spells might best work, to summon his compatriot, that a portal to your Earth might be opened. An you be safely home, we’ll arrange a thousand of these ‘guns’ be sent. Then see we will whether the things of Shadow can withstand them!”

  “You’ll not be marching hence to beard Shadow in its lair, then?” Stoddard asked. “If this be Sunderland, Shadow’s hold lies to the west.”

  “Nay,” Raven answered. “What good of that, with a band such as this—fools and fainthearts and women, with only you and I and the wizard that would stand fast? We fare west only to be free of the forests.”

  Stung by Raven’s words, Pel said, “It’s not my fight, you know—there’s nothing wrong with my running away. And I’ll do you a lot more good buying guns back home than getting myself eaten by monsters here.”

  Raven turned to face the Earthman, caught sight of his battered and bloody appearance, and hesitated. Then he smiled ruefully. “True enow, friend Pel,” Raven admitted, “and you’ve my apology that I spoke ill of you.”

  “Where are you going to get a thousand guns, Pel?” Amy asked. “And where are you going to get a thousand men to use them?”

  “I’ll buy them,” Pel replied. “A few at a time.”

  “I’ll help,” Susan said.

  “And for men,” Raven said, “perhaps the Empire has better than our friends to offer.” He waved his bandaged hand at Dibbs and his men. Dibbs was talking quietly with Prossie; the others were chatting amongst themselves, leaving the Earthpeople and the natives alone.

  Amy looked at Pel, at Susan, and at Dibbs, then shrugged. “I guess you’re right,” she said, “and what do I care, anyway? As long as I get home.”

  Pel frowned.

  Getting home was what he cared about, too. He intended to keep his promise to buy guns, but then, why shouldn’t he? If he didn’t, Raven and a couple of oversized swordsmen like Stoddard might walk out of his basement wall at any time and drag him away on more idiotic, dangerous, deadly adventures.

  And when he got home…

  The house would be empty, just him and Silly Cat—wouldn’t it? Nancy and Rachel wouldn’t be coming home with him.

  Unless Ted was right, in which case they already were home, waiting for him

  He knew they weren’t, he knew they were dead, he really did know that.

  But he had to see. He had to see for himself. He had to get home and see.

  * * * *

  “All right, Thorpe,” Dibbs said. “Unless we get orders telling us otherwise, we’re going to sit right here and wait for a pick-up. That clear?”

  “Yes, sir.” Prossie knew better than to argue. If she were to suddenly manifest an order from Bascombe or Hart at this point in the argument, Dibbs probably would reject it outright. Maybe later, when the men started to get bored, she could “receive” an order to move on.

  Or maybe she could leave without Dibbs and the rest, go with Raven and his group instead; certainly, they would be more interesting companions.

  That thought was treasonous, she told herself; she didn’t dare think it.

  Dibbs turned away, and shouted, “Raven, all the rest of you! We’re staying right here until Base One sends someone to get us. Anyone who wants to stay, that’s fine with us. If the rest of you want to go, we won’t stop you—it’s your world, you’re not Imperial citizens.”

  “It’s not my world,” Susan said quietly; Dibbs ignored her.

  “Messire Lieutenant,” Raven said, “methinks you might best reconsider. I’ll not ask you to join us if you’ve no wish to, but in all true compassion that the Goddess bids us, I’d warn you that this place be perchance more dangerous than you realize.”

  “This place,” Dibbs replied, “is where the space warp comes out.”

  “Aye, so ’tis, and therefore of interest to Shadow; would you face more such as this?” The nobleman gestured at the dead monster.

  “You think more are coming?”

  “Aye, so I do.”

  “Well, I don’t,” Dibbs said flatly. “And if they do, we’ll take shelter.”

  “And what can shelter you from such as that?” Raven was clearly trying hard to be reasonable and persuasive; Prossie wondered why, since she was fairly sure he didn’t particularly want Dibbs and his men along any more. Could it be honest concern?

  That was a frightening thought, that there was something so fearsome approaching that Raven would worry about what it might do to other people.

  More likely Raven was afraid that if Dibbs and company stayed here at the ship they would somehow interfere with his own schemes against Shadow.

  “We’ll be safe enough in the trees,” Dibbs said. “We can take care of ourselves.”

  Raven considered for a moment; Stoddard and the Earthpeople all watched him. Valadrakul was studying the dead monster; the soldiers were looking in various directions.

  “An it please you,” Raven said at last, “I’d ask a favor. Could call for volunteers, that would come with us?”

  “Lieutenant,” Prossie said, before Dibbs could reply, “Base One agrees with Raven that there’s a risk here.”

  No one at Base One had said any such thing. Prossie had once again yielded to the temptation to play God, to alter the facts to suit herself—or at least to exceed her authority and lie.

  Prossie could sense that Carrie, who had not been paying much attention, was suddenly much more interested. Prossie tried to ignore her questions. Did someone here say that? Did I relay that? I don’t remember anything like that, Prossie…

  Dibbs did not like what he heard, either. He frowned at Prossie.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

  “But volunteers?” Raven asked, his tone almost wheedling.

  Dibbs glanced at his men, then yielded. “All right,” he said, “you can take volunteers. I doubt you’ll get any.”

  “I’ll go,” Prossie said immediately. “Base One will want to stay in touch with the advance party.” It would get her away from Lieutenant Dibbs and, she hoped, eliminate any further temptation to lie about relayed messages. More importantly, it would get her away from the space-warp; she was now convinced that Raven was sincere in his warning, and that this place was a death trap.

  “Wait a minute, Thorpe,” Dibbs protested. “What am I supposed to do for communications, then?”

  “With all respect, sir, you won’t need any, if you’re just waiting right here. And Base One can send messages through the warp if they have to.”

  Besides, Prossie thought, she wasn’t reliable anyway. She had lied about messages more than once already. The farther she got from Lieutenant Dibbs, the less likely she would be to do it again—and the less likely she would be to think about it, and perhaps let Carrie know what had happened.

  She tried not to let those thoughts come clear; she didn’t want Carrie to hear them.

  Carrie wasn’t receiving, though, she was sending, objecting to Prossie’s decision. Prossie hadn’t cleared it, she hadn’t even asked anyone at Base One, how could she volunteer for anything that way? Telepaths didn’t do that! Telepaths don’t choose for themselves! And who had told her that there was any danger?

  Then Spaceman Singer said, “I’d like to go, too, sir,” and suddenly everyone was distracted; Prossie felt a surge of relief that she was no longer the center of attention.

  But she dared not think about it, dared not enjoy the relief; Carrie would notice. Instead, she forced her mind into a receptive blank, and passed the scene in the forest on to Carrie without comment, as mindlessly as she could, struggling to be only a camera.

  * * * *

  “Do we wait until morning?” Pel asked, as he carefully felt the scratches on the back of his head; they were scabbing over. He tugged a lock of hair out of the congealing blood and winced at the sharp pain t
hat resulted.

  “Nay,” Raven said. “And spend the night here, with that?” He gestured at the dead bat-thing. “More, ’tis by night and the dark that Shadow’s strongest. We’ll depart as soon we may.”

  “It’s already well after noon.”

  “And I know it well, friend Pel; think you I’d not? It may be we’ll not get far, but every pace we put betwixt ourselves and this place will be a pace away from wasting our lives.”

  Pel nodded. “Right,” he said.

  “Who all is coming?” Amy asked.

  “Well, we are,” Pel said, indicating himself, Amy, Susan, and Raven. “And Valadrakul, and I think Stoddard…”

  “Aye,” Stoddard said. “I’ve no wish to linger in this foul spot.”

  “And three of the soldiers…” Pel said.

  “Three?” Amy asked. She turned, and saw only one Imperial trooper standing near. Dirt was smeared down the front of his uniform; he had obviously hit the ground at some point, but nothing appeared torn or bloody. He had his helmet tucked under one arm.

  “That’s right,” the soldier said. “Me, and Ronnie Wilkins, and Bill Marks. Four, if you count Miss Thorpe.”

  “So where are the others?” Amy asked.

  “Ronnie and Bill are arguing with the lieutenant,” the soldier explained. “I’m not sure where Thorpe went.”

  “’Twill do no good,” Raven said. “’Tis plain Messire Dibbs’ mind is set firmly in its course.”

  “That’s why I’m over here with you folks,” the Imperial agreed.

  “What about Ted?” Amy asked.

  Pel frowned, and glanced at the lawyer, who was standing to one side, alone, gazing idly at the dead bat-monster. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

  “We better take him,” Amy said. “He’ll get killed if he stays here. The lieutenant isn’t going to want to look after him.”

  “I don’t know,” Pel said reluctantly. “He’s pretty far gone. He could really slow us down…”

  “Pel Brown, how can you say that?” Amy shouted. “If he doesn’t come with us, he’ll never get home to Earth! And getting home is probably the only chance he’s ever got to recover, and you know it!”

  “It’s not a hell of a great chance,” Pel shouted back. “If we drag him along, maybe none of us will get back!”