The Orphan and the Shadow Walker

by Graeme Bourke

“I’m not a child anymore, I am a man.” Craig thumped his chest with his fist to make the point.

  “Almost a man,” added Luther, filling his goblet with wine.

  Aaron turned to his father. “This shadow Walker, he is coming for you?”

  “I don’t believe in Shadow Walkers but I do know that Edmond Harland’s body was never found fifteen years ago. He is not one to let the death of his father pass without taking revenge. I’ve always felt that he was alive and that one day he would come for me.”

  “You think this man is posing as a Shadow Walker?”

  “It is possible.”

  “Tomorrow I’ll begin a search of the city, any strangers; anyone who seems suspicious will be arrested. It is about time the city was cleansed again,” grinned Luther.

  Suddenly a cold draft wafted through the room, Aaron shivered and looked around to see if any of the windows had blown opened. They were all shut. The candles flickered, the torches wavered and the increased glow of brazier hinted at the sudden draught. Then as quickly as it happened it ceased.

  “What was that?” exclaimed Craig, showing some fear.

  “Maybe it was the Shadow Walker paying us a visit,” cackled Luther.

  “You shouldn’t joke about such things,” said Craig.

  Aaron saw the fear in Craig’s eyes. Craig still believed those stories from his childhood even though he would never admit it. He finished the drumstick and threw the bones in the dog bin and then stood up to leave.

  “Where are you going?” enquired his father.

  “To see Father Hannibal.”

  “What about?”

  “About Shadow Walkers.”

  Father Hannibal was the palace’s resident priest. He had been for some forty years. He knew the Harland family and their history. He had also studied the ancient scrolls, the books from the past and knew all the legends and stories.

  Making his way down the stone steps to the below ground section of the palace, Aaron thought about the consequences of his father losing power or even his life. If his father was assassinated Luther would step into the breach and his fury would be devastating for the people, the city and Steppland. It would be far better that his father continued to rule.

  It was dark and dingy in the bowels of the palace, and he could feel the damp, but Father Hannibal liked it here. He was a crusty old sole, bent and frail but with as sharp a mind as any of the scholars. Aaron knocked on the old wooden door with its rusty iron hinges. He heard shuffling and the door creaked ajar just enough for Father Hannibal’s bald head to appear. Green eyes squinted at Aaron. “Ah, come in, Master Aaron,” he said, opening the door further.

  The room was rather warm. Father Hannibal kept a brazier going all the time to keep his parchments, books and writing materials dry. “It has been a while since your last visit, Master.”

  Aaron spent many hours in this room as a young boy. Father Hannibal had been his tutor. His thirst for knowledge and his education far surpassed any of his brothers. These past six months he had neglected his education, had not even paid the old priest a visit. “I apologise, Father, I should have come and seen you sooner.”

  “No matter, you are here now,” he said, slowly moving his thin frame beneath the dusky brown cassock to the wooden chair at the head of the table. “Sit down.”

  Aaron sat down at the table that was covered in books and writing materials, a solitary empty bowl and a spoon the only contrast. “What can you tell me about Edmond Harland?”

  “You visit the past, Aaron.”

  “There have been some events that are causing my father and brothers some concern.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard the stories. Do you want the truth about Edmond or do you want me to give you the king’s version?”

  “I know the king’s version. He was a traitor and a rebel.”

  “That may be so in Thomas Letcher’s eyes but he was far more than that. You and he could be brothers. You are so much alike.”

  Aaron was not sure how to respond to that comment, so he didn’t.

  “Edmond’s mother is a Manute, she was born in Santomine,” continued Father Hannibal.

  “You said ‘is’, does that mean she is still alive?”

  “Like her son, she disappeared, but there are rumours that she now resides in Santomine. Nothing has been heard of Edmond, not even a rumour, it’s presumed he died from wounds at the battle of Tursy.”

  “Do you really believe that, Father?”

  “No,” he replied, rather quickly.

  “What can you tell me about the Shadow Walkers that I don’t already know?”

  “Now I see where you are heading with this,” uttered Father Hannibal with a faint smile to his lips. “The birthplace of the Shadow Walkers is reputed to be in Santomine. Queen Isabella was born in Santomine.”

  “Father might be right then. This man purporting to be a Shadow Walker could be Edmond Harland. Is he a true Shadow Walker or just a man dressed up as one?”

  “Only time will tell, Master.”

  “What else can you tell me about them?”

  Father Hannibal groped through the books on the table until he found the one he was looking for. He flipped over several pages with his thin bony hands until he found the place he was looking for. He began to read from the book.

  “I have known fear in battle but the fear that is generated by the sight of the Shadow Walker’s flag is something new to me. The people in the town locked their doors, hid wherever they could. Being a soldier I was supposed to show no fear, and our general, being a mean son-of-a-bitch would allow no locking of the doors; we were expected to go out on patrol regardless. The soldiers drew straws for the patrol, no one wanted to go out into the night.

  “I was one of the unlucky bastards who drew the short straw. Some of the old hands told me that Shadow Walkers usually had a target. They never killed at random, so they reckoned we should be safe, as we were just simple soldiers following orders.

  But what if we ran across this supposed invincible, silent and deadly apparition, were we expected to fight or run? It was a question that was in all our minds as we readied ourselves for the night patrol. The other question, the one that was on everyone’s lips was who would be his victim or victims? Once the flag was flown someone always died.

  “With some trepidation I led the ten-man patrol through the darkened streets. I had never seen it so quiet. No lights shone from the houses, no one was on the streets. Even the beggars had disappeared. It was a long night, we saw nothing but there was always that feeling that we were being watched. Some of the men swore they had seen something dark and shadowy cross their paths. As the grey dawn reached the sky I breathed a sigh of relief. We had made it through the night. Trudging through the town square I saw a bloodied head on a spike stuck in the ground. All of us stopped in our tracks and stared at the gruesome sight, we all recognised the head. It was our general!”

  “This is but one of many hundreds of accounts passed down through the ages,” said Father Hannibal closing the book and putting it back on the pile. “There are too many stories, too many tales to ignore. Shadow Walkers did exist and if there’s one amongst us now then I don’t need to tell you what this means for the king’s realm. It seems he has already sent a warning.”

  “You speak of the seven heads.”

  “Seven heads, seven provinces, it is as plain as the nose on your face.”

  “Can we stop him?”

  Father Hannibal waved his hand at all the books before him. “In all the stories not one tells of a Shadow Walker ever being defeated, or ever being thwarted from his intended victim.”

  “How is it that they disappeared?”

  “That is one of the great mysteries. Some say that they fought among themselves, as there were good and bad Shadow Walkers. Others say that the powers endowed upon them were taken from them when they strayed from their path. Then there’s the theory that the lines of hereditary descendants just died out.”

  “
Thank you, Father Hannibal, you have given me much to think about,” said Aaron rising from his chair.

  “I wish you well in your future endeavours, Aaron.”

  “If I have any future, Father.”

  “Stay true to yourself, Aaron, as you always have, and your future will be assured.”

  Walking back up the stairs deep in thought Aaron contemplated Father Hannibal’s last words to him. Stay true to yourself. Was he trying to tell him something, warn him perhaps? Regardless of his feelings toward his father and brothers they were still his kin and he could not allow them to be hurt or slain. Tomorrow he would go with Luther and search the city. Maybe they could find this supposed Shadow Walker and be the first to stop him.

  “You went into the palace last night?” enquired Brannigan as they fed the horses.

  “Yes, the way is clear, although the spiders have taken over. The door into the study still works. I even opened it for a second or two. Benjamin and his sons were in the next room.”

  “You could have slain them all then, Master.”

  “Not yet, I need to think this out. We have to be sure we can escape from the city, if they close the gates we will be trapped.”

  “No more tunnels, Master?”

  “No, not under the city walls.”

  “A fire always works well as a distraction.”

  “That it does, Brannigan. You might take a walk and find a likely target.”

  “Might I suggest the soldier’s barracks or their stables?”

  “Risky, but it would keep them busy.”

  “It is just a matter of timing, Master.”

  Just then young Tarran ran into the stables. “Soldiers,” he gasped. “They are coming down the street and searching all the houses.”

  Craig hammered on the door of the humble house with the hilt of his sword. A thin, greasy-looking old man opened the door. “We are searching for the Shadow Walker,” said Craig in his roughest voice.

  “What does he look like? Maybe we can help you find him.”

  “Keep your insolent tongue to yourself,” said Luther, pushing Craig and the peasant aside.

  Aaron stood in the street as he waited for his two brothers to search the house, he heard yelling and screaming. He tried to convince himself that all this was necessary, the beatings and the invasion of people’s homes. If he was to save his father’s life he had to turn his back on this and deny it in his own mind. Sacrifices had to be made.

  While standing there he noticed a boy of around ten or eleven leading two horses along the street, one of them a fine looking black stallion. He could see other soldiers bursting into nearby homes, heard the screams and the yelling. Luther and Craig came out into the street.

  “Let’s move onto the next house,” growled Luther, hitching up his trousers.

  “What did you do in there?” asked Aaron, angrily.

  “There’s nothing wrong with mixing a bit of pleasure with business.”

  “You disgust me, Luther.”

  “You need to get some balls,” laughed Luther, leading them further down the street.

  Rose heard the demanding thump on the door. She opened it only to be roughly pushed aside by Luther as he entered the cottage. “Have you seen any strangers?” he asked as he began searching the house and looking in the other rooms.

  “No, sir, I live here with my two children.”

  “Where are your children?”

  “My daughter is with some friends and my son took the horses to the meadow. We have a stable out back that we hire out.”

  Aaron and Craig entered the cottage. Craig’s eyes fell on the young woman. “A comely wench if I may say so,” said Craig, reaching out and grasping one of the woman’s breasts. The fire in Rose’s eyes was instant as was her reaction. She struck Craig with a stinging slap to the face.

  “Bitch!” he yelled as he grabbed her by the throat with one hand and tore at the front of her dress with the other. She fell to her knees.

  “Leave her be, Craig,” uttered Aaron, all too calmly as he held the sword tip at his brother’s neck.

  “The bitch hit me,” he exclaimed.

  “She had every right, leave her be.”

  “You would not kill a brother?” said Luther, fingering his own sword.

  “No, but I will leave him with a scar,” replied Aaron, moving the sword tip to Craig’s cheek.

  “One day you will go too far. Let her go, Craig,” said Luther.

  “Some other time, bitch,” spat Craig, shoving her roughly to the floor.

  “There will be no other time, Craig. If anything happens to this woman I’ll hold you personally responsible,” said Aaron.

  Scowling, Craig left the cottage followed by Luther. Aaron held out his hand and helped the young woman to stand.

  “Thank you, sir, I will be forever grateful,” she stammered.

  “I saw a young boy leading some horses, was that your son?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “He is a fine looking boy. You don’t mind if I have a look in the stables, do you?”

  “No, sir,” said Rose, her body trembling in fear.

  Aaron searched the stables. He found nothing that aroused his suspicions. He returned to the house and found the woman sitting down and wiping her eyes with a white linen handerkerchief. “Who do the horses belong to?”

  “A couple of local traders, they come here all the time. It’s extra money, sir.”

  “Where are these traders now?”

  “At one of the inns.”

  Other soldiers were checking the inns. If they found any strangers they would be picked up in the sweep.

  “I bid you good day, madam,” said Aaron, bowing slightly.

  Rose waited for the soldiers to move on then she ran to the stable and tapped on the paver. The Shadow Walker lifted the paver from beneath the floor, and May rushed to her mother’s arms. Brannigan saw the front of Rose’s dress and the anger seethed in him. “Did they harm you?”

  “The one called Craig tried, but Aaron stopped him.”

  “Well, that was rather too close,” said the Shadow Walker in a muffled voice. He still wore the hood and scarf.

  “In all the years I’ve lived here I never knew there was a tunnel beneath the stables,” said Rose.

  “It connects to the palace,” he explained, “Jeb was in the employ of the former king and queen. It was his job to guard the tunnel and always keep some horses here in case they were ever needed.”

  “I have a lot more questions but I think it would be better I did not know,” said Rose.

  “It would be safer that way,” said the Shadow Walker. “After tonight we’ll be gone, I suggest that you lock the house tomorrow and stay indoors.”

  Rose turned to Brannigan. She liked him from the very first moment she had seen him at her door. She had never contemplated having another man in her life after the death of her husband but this man was different, she felt it in her heart. “You are going so soon?”

  “I would very much like to stay, to get to know you and your family better but we have much do and many miles to cover. You will understand better after tomorrow.”

  “Will I ever see you again?”

  “If my master ever grants me my freedom, this will be the first place I’ll come.”

  Rose smiled and went back into the cottage.

  “That was a cheap shot, Brannigan, you are free to go any time you wish.”

  “I am no more free than you are, Master.”

  “So true, Brannigan, so true.”

  “We have much to plan and little time to do it.”

  “Yes, it is unfortunate, but we have little choice, they might stumble onto us at any time, so it has to be tonight.”

  * * *

  In the early hours of the morning a dark shadow flitted through the dimly lit stone corridors of the castle. Two sleepy guards never noticed the subtle change in the light, the whispering brush of soft leather on the paved floor. They never knew there was anyo
ne there until the rasping blade of a sword and dagger entered their throats.

  The Shadow Walker dragged the bodies down the corridor and hid them in a small storeroom. It was important that the alarm not be raised until the city gates were opened and Brannigan was able get his fire going. If the alarm was raised before the gates were opened they would be trapped and would have to fight their way out.

  These corridors, these doors brought back memories, memories that he would rather not have at this moment in time. It was a distraction he could well do without. All the bedrooms were on the second floor and the guards he had just slain were standing outside only one door, so it had to be Benjamin’s bedroom. He approached the door with some trepidation, he knew this room intimately. He also knew that the solid wooden door would creak and groan as he opened it, he could do nothing about it be but be prepared.

  Stepping into the room he closed the door. The sound of its closing seemed intolerably loud to his ears. Reaching to his right his fingers sought out the loose piece of timber he knew would be leaning up against the wall that was used to bar door. He slipped it into place. No one could enter the room with out chopping down the door. Moving to one side away from the door and making as little sound as possible, he listened for the sounds of sleeping. The room was in complete darkness. His instincts, his years of honed training, instantly told him there was more than one person in this room. He drew his sword and moved further to his right. He was at home in the darkness. It was both his ally and his friend.

  There were three of them, one was in bed asleep or dozing, he could tell by the gentle breathing. The second was awake and very close to him, his breathing irregular as if in a panic. The third person was off to his right, a safe distance away from his sword arm. His breathing was much calmer and more controlled. The Shadow Walker knew that one of them would strike a light at any moment. But which one?

  He heard the hard grinding sound of the flint against the metal before he saw the faint flickering light. The sword took the man in the throat. He gasped and gurgled blood from his throat and fell to the floor, the lit candle fell to the floor. The Shadow Walker quickly placed his boot on the flame, extinguishing it.