Shadow of the Exile (The Infernal Guardian Book 1)

by Mitchell Hogan

  “She called you Sun-Child,” Tarrik said. “What does she mean?”

  “A joke between us. It isn’t important. What is important is that this might actually work out well for me. I hadn’t dared hope, but . . .” She pursed her lips and glanced at Tarrik. “We’ll hail a cab and go straight to the palace. I’m expected there too.”

  The path led them to the garden wall and a double gate fashioned from wrought iron. Outside, they signaled a single-horse open cab and were soon on their way. Not many people looked at the cab or its occupants as it bumped along the cobbled streets.

  Compared to the inhabitants of Ivrian and Dwemor Port, these people were skinnier, dirtier, and more haggard. Tarrik spotted the occasional well-dressed man or woman, but overall he decided Atya was not a prosperous city. As they’d approached on Ren’s disc, he’d noticed the surrounding lands were drier and far less vegetated than those surrounding Ivrian and Niyas—presumably the Wastes Ren had mentioned earlier. But Tarrik thought the people here looked more downtrodden than tough.

  Ren stared at nothing, lost in thought. Her right hand was at her lips, and her teeth worried the strip of cloth around her knuckle.

  Their driver stopped at a brick wall topped with arm-length iron spikes. The barrier had a single wide opening through which a crowd thronged both ways.

  “Can’t go no farther,” he said. “Cabs aren’t allowed through.”

  “I know—thank you,” said Ren as she handed him a coin.

  She alighted, and Tarrik followed. Through the opening he could see a massive building dominating a paved square. The palace was a jumble of ancient and newer architecture: spires and turrets, stained-glass windows, squat defensive towers, and multiple walls layered for defense. It looked both sprawling and formidable. Flags and pennants of many colors and designs flew atop the towers.

  Ren placed her hands on her hips and sighed at the mass of people around the palace entrance.

  Tarrik waved toward them. “Maybe you should just blast them to charcoal and give us easy access.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  If they were human sorcerers and demon slavers, yes. But these common folk were mere ants.

  Before Tarrik could reply, two wagons filled with soldiers barreled down the street toward them. The soldiers wore leather armor covered with heat-darkened metal scales and carried short swords and clubs.

  Tarrik felt Ren’s bindings tighten around him, urging him to protect her. He pulled her into a recessed doorway, putting himself between her and the soldiers.

  The wagons clattered past and stopped thirty paces along the street. A carriage of black and scarlet lacquered wood with bright steel trims and fittings followed behind. Tarrik leaned out and saw the soldiers drag a man and a woman from a shop and into the carriage.

  A young woman shouted imprecations and tussled with two of the soldiers. A basket lay where she’d dropped it, apples spilling on the ground. The soldiers shoved the woman to the ground and waved their clubs menacingly. She covered her head, and they hurried back to the wagons.

  By the time the woman raised her head to reveal a tear-streaked face, the wagons and carriage had vanished down a side street. She cursed and picked up an apple but then just sat there dejectedly. Passersby scurried around, ignoring her.

  Ren gave the woman a brief look, then beckoned Tarrik to follow her.

  “Those weren’t regular soldiers,” he said. “Why did they take those people?”

  “For spreading rumors, for subversion, for sabotage—any number of reasons. These people have their own history and ties to other ideals. The soldiers were Guardians.”

  “What do they guard?”

  “Ideas. A concept of empire that is bigger than one person.”

  “And to guard this concept, they imprison anyone who disagrees?”

  “Yes.”

  Ren reached the woman and bent to pick up the apples. When the basket was full, she held it out, but the woman didn’t seem to see her. Ren placed the basket at her feet and turned away toward the crowded gate. Tarrik followed close behind.

  “Ideas are everywhere,” he said. “To imprison someone for history and ideas would mean imprisoning all. And yet many people walk these streets.”

  “They are the faithful. The rulers of this land have a vision that they have made possible by joining with the Tainted Cabal and the Nine.”

  Perhaps the Tainted Cabal and the Nine would create an empire of slaves, Tarrik thought. Turn the countryside into a wasteland and the humans into cattle, though few would realize the shackles placed upon them. Scarcity and hunger changed what you thought about, made the need for survival overriding.

  Tarrik cared not. The humans could do as they wished with their world. But still a small part of him objected to this line of thinking. If he were somehow able to prevent the return of the Adversary and the untold damage he would cause but chose not to, wouldn’t that make him just like the humans?

  Ren muttered cants under her breath, and the crowd moved as if parted by invisible walls. She strode into the gap she’d created, ignoring the startled looks and ominous glances of fear, loathing, and jealousy.

  Guards tried to calm the riled throng while at the same time acting respectfully toward Ren, standing at attention or saluting with a fist to the chest. Trying to do all things at once gave them a comical awkwardness, and Tarrik almost felt sorry for them.

  “Isn’t there an easier way in?” he asked.

  “It helps to create an impression, and I’m fond of unsettling people. They think I’m thousands of miles away.”

  “I’ve noticed,” he said. Unsettling them and then killing them.

  Inside the wall was almost as chaotic as outside. Soldiers and servants scurried around, all acting as if they were on important business. Tarrik noticed another gate far to their left with a long line of wagons and carts. Their drivers and teamsters sat around chatting and smoking pipes, playing cards or dice. They were more barbaric than the drivers in Ivrian, and most wore stained and patched leathers. Their broad-brimmed hats sported feathers and the teeth of various animals.

  Tarrik followed Ren across the paved square to another queue of people. She walked right past them, and when guards moved to intercept her, she sent a brief burst of multicolored tendrils into the air. They scurried back, bowing obsequiously. Tarrik was about to remark that they weren’t much use as guards, then realized they knew they’d be slaughtered if it came to a fight with a sorcerer, and there were plenty of Cabalists and other sorcerers inside the palace who could deal with Ren if she was a threat.

  They passed through an elaborate door wrought from brass and a brown wood and into a white-marbled foyer. The queue of people snaked in from outside, ending at a large desk, behind which sat three clerks taking petitioners’ details before sending them down various corridors.

  Ahead, a large opening offered passage into another marbled room flanked by two spiraling staircases that ended at iron-grilled doors leading to the floor above.

  An official in a navy tunic scurried over to Ren, a pen and a wood-backed notebook in his hands. He was short and reedy with a lusterless complexion. “Lady Branwen,” he said with perfunctory courtesy and wrote a brief note in his book. “I’ll inform your colleagues that you have arrived and assign you a suite of rooms.”

  “Thank you,” Ren said. “Have some refreshments brought as well. It has been a long journey.”

  “As you wish. I believe a meeting of the Cabal is scheduled for this morning. Will you be attending?”

  “I will.”

  “Excellent. I’ll let them know.”

  The official raised his pen in the air, and a young girl scurried over, also dressed in navy. She was pale skinned and a head shorter than Ren, her reddish hair in tight braids. She gave Tarrik and Ren furtive glances.

  “Take Lady Branwen to the Green Elk Suite, Linriel,” the official told the girl. “Then provide refreshments. Return to me as quickly as you ca
n. We have a great number of visitors, and I don’t want you shirking your duties.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The man turned to Ren. “Follow Linriel, please. And if she doesn’t meet your wishes or talks too much, report her to me. The servants are lacking in discipline these days, and it makes everyone’s job harder.”

  Tarrik caught the girl rolling her eyes before she lowered her head.

  “I’m sure she’ll be fine,” said Ren. “Lead away.”

  Linriel hurried toward the staircase on the right, and Ren and Tarrik followed. At the top were stationed two guards, who opened the iron grille while giving Ren and Tarrik suspicious stares. Once the trio was through the grille and into a mosaic-tiled chamber, Linriel slowed her pace, looked back, and smiled.

  “It’s a big palace, so you need to conserve your energy. Old Randin just stands around all day; he forgets how hard it is on the servants. If you want, I can bring some cakes and sweets to your rooms, but maybe I’d better taste them first, as there might be poison. Where are you from? Are you a sorcerer? Your man is scary. Where’s he from? Somewhere terrible, I bet.”

  “You’d be correct,” said Ren with a smile. “No cakes or sweets for us, but a pastry or two wouldn’t go astray. I am a sorcerer, and I’m from far away.”

  “Call me Lin. Everyone does, apart from stuffy Randin.”

  Ren dealt with the chatty girl far better than Tarrik would have. He focused on the palace and its occupants. As they walked down a corridor, blue-clad servants moved to the side and bowed their heads. Guards were stationed at every junction, though some looked less disciplined than others. Tarrik noticed some spots of rust on weapons and helmets, and eyes flicking left and right when they should have been straight ahead, at attention. He guessed a few locals had been conscripted to bulk out the guards’ numbers while the Cabal was in the palace. Whoever ruled in this city was obviously under their sway—a puppet. Tarrik would do better to concentrate on the Cabalists themselves and whatever they were up to. If there was a chance to disrupt their plans and put the blame on Ren, he would take it.

  “Far away where?” Lin asked. “Can you teach me some sorcery? Are you rich?”

  “Across the Simorga Sea,” Ren replied. “Maybe, if you have the talent. And no.”

  They ascended another staircase, this one of polished wood, and found themselves outside a wide door painted with green antlers. The girl tugged on the brass handle and pulled the door open with a groan of exertion.

  “I’ll fetch your pastries now!” she said, and rushed off.

  “Bring some meat,” called Tarrik after her, not sure if she heard.

  The rooms were much like the other suites they’d stayed in. Bedroom, preparation room, a smaller room for a servant, and a reception room. A few cream-colored woolen rugs were scattered about the floor. Ren closed the door while Tarrik placed their bags on the floor and leaned his spear against a wall.

  “There is danger here,” Ren said. “Do not let your guard down.”

  “As you command.”

  Ren looked at her bloodied knuckle and frowned. She dug through her saddlebags and came up with a pair of calfskin gloves and tugged them on.

  “You have three tasks here, Tarrik. Protect me, survive any treachery, and keep a watch for the demons Sheelahn warned us about.”

  If there was any treachery, it was more likely to come from Ren. With any luck she would be kept busy with Cabal business, leaving him to his own devices. And he’d continue to worry at Ananias’s essence.

  Ren picked up a brush from the bedside table and ran it over her clothes. “The . . . favor I owe Sheelahn must be repaid. Her regard is too valuable to lose. The demons would be jikin-nakar—would they not?”

  He was surprised at her knowledge. “I believe so. Rare, and supreme infiltrators and hunters. No match for higher-order demons, but humans would be easy prey.”

  “That is what disturbs me. A Cabalist has summoned them for an unknown purpose. I would have to find out more even if Sheelahn hadn’t asked me to. My own plans—” She broke off and busied herself brushing her clothes.

  Her own plans what? What exactly was Ren’s end goal? Presumably to position herself as the preeminent of the Nine before the return of the Adversary. But that would be foolish to assume. And something about Ren was off.

  “You haven’t yet told me your goal,” he said. “If I know more, I can assist. And as you told Veika, I’m more trustworthy than anyone else—since I’m bound.”

  She returned the brush to the side table, adjusting her sword across her back and the scabbard’s belt over her chest. “I seek the return of Samal. All the Nine do. It is no secret.”

  “And yet you killed Lischen the Nightwhisperer, one of the Nine. And not by stealth but by direct confrontation. When Samal returns, surely he will know this? You won’t be able to shield your thoughts from him.”

  “Let me worry about that. You’re here to protect me, not cluck over me like a mother hen.”

  The door opened, and Lin came in bearing a tray loaded with dishes. She struggled under its weight, and Tarrik moved to take the tray from her before she dropped his meat all over the floor.

  “Thank you,” she said. There was a red mark on her cheek where someone had slapped her.

  Tarrik placed the tray on a table between a lounge and an armchair. His mouth watered at the smell of cooked meat from one of the covered plates.

  Ren bent to the girl’s side so their eyes were level. “Who hit you?”

  “It’s nothing. I was too slow, and the kitchen girls are mean. I’ve had worse. When the cooks get angry, they spank you with a wooden spoon. It really hurts.”

  Ren rose and patted her on the shoulder. “And what does Old Randin say about that?”

  “That it builds character. But I don’t want to grow up to be like him. I’d rather be like you.”

  “I don’t think that’s something you should wish for. Perhaps you have a kinder life waiting for you.”

  Lin scowled at Ren, as if unsure whether she was joking. She turned to Tarrik. “You’re not like anyone else I’ve met. You’re big, but that’s not it. You’re quiet and still, but I don’t think that’s it either.”

  “He is a warrior, and a good one,” Ren said.

  Lin shivered and rubbed her arms. “He’s dark, but there’s a darkness inside him too, like at night.” She lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry. I talk too much. That’s why I’m always being punished.”

  Ren frowned thoughtfully. “It’s all right,” she told the girl. “There’s a darkness inside all of us. It’s how you deal with it that matters.”

  “If you say so. There are pastries on the tray.” Lin bounced on the tips of her toes and eyed the food with eagerness.

  Ren uncovered the dishes to reveal slices of beef, pickled eggs, candied crickets, and three pastries with a flaky, golden crust.

  “Have you been tested for the mark?” she asked Lin.

  “Not yet. But my grandmother was a sorcerer, and her mother too. Mine doesn’t have the mark, but I’m hopeful. My da says I should forget about it and train to work in the library here. But it’s too dusty and boring and full of old men.”

  “If I let you have a pastry,” Ren said, “will you let me test you?”

  Lin’s eyes widened. She pursed her lips, then nodded. “It won’t hurt, will it?”

  “Not at all. I don’t have ink to stain your finger, though, so you’ll have to keep the result to yourself. And if you fail, you’ll have more time to decide what you want to do with your life.”

  “And if I pass? Will you take me on as an apprentice?”

  “I cannot. But I’ll find someone who will. The Cabalists are . . . harsh. You wouldn’t want to train with them.”

  “Some of them make my skin crawl. Like your man here, but worse.”

  “Did you hear that, Tarrik—you’re unsettling to little girls.”

  “I unsettle many humans.”

  Lin looked sideways
at him. “Is he not human?” she asked Ren.

  Ren met Tarrik’s eye and shook her head slightly. “Yes, he is, dear. He was just making a joke. A poor one. Now, let’s get started with your testing.”

  Ren knelt on one of the cream woolen rugs in front of the girl and tilted her sword to the side. She took both Lin’s hands in hers.

  “What are you going to do to me?” the girl asked.

  “I’ll just close my eyes for a few moments. When I open them, the test will be done. It’s that simple. I’ll measure your dawn- and dusk-tide repositories and send a trickle of power to see if a catalyst will work on you.”

  “A catalyst?”

  “A crystal imbued with sorcery; it makes all cants possible.”

  “Cants?”

  Ren smiled. “Calculations and foci spoken in ancient Skanuric that draw forth and guide arcane power. Anyhow, save your questions for later. Don’t be nervous. You’ll be fine, and it won’t hurt.”

  Ren closed her eyes.

  Lin’s lip trembled, and she looked to Tarrik.

  He shrugged and ate another slice of meat. As he chewed, he felt a faint emanation from Ren, too small for him to determine whether it was dawn- or dusk-tide. He kept his eye on the women, in case something went wrong. With human sorcery you could never tell.

  Lin watched him watching them, and after a few heartbeats her eyes narrowed. “You are funny. Odd, I mean.”

  Tarrik shrugged again and continued eating.

  Soon Ren opened her eyes, smiling. “Well, that was a surprise.”

  “Am I a sorcerer?” Lin asked.

  “Not yet, but you could be. Your repositories are significant.” Ren glanced at Tarrik. “And you seem to have a talent for discernment as well.”

  Lin beamed and bounced on her tiptoes with excitement, her hands still clasping Ren’s. “Oh, this is great! Wait till I tell the others! They’ll be so jealous. And my ma will be happy!”

  Ren stood and drew Lin over to the food. She chose the largest pastry and gave it to her. Lin couldn’t take her eyes off Ren, gazing up at her in adoration. Another pawn in Ren’s game, thought Tarrik. He felt sorry for the girl.