Shadow Gate

by Kate Elliott

  “I’m glad to hear you have your territory so well scanned, Menard. So tell me. What defense have you against demons?”

  “Why, the same as you reeves. Or are you here to tell me you have a plan in mind and wish our help?”

  Joss grinned. “That’s exactly what I’m here to tell you. We haven’t long, for we’re not that far ahead. We’ve plans to make and snares to set. As for your people, those who have heart and strength to fight are welcome to join us. All others should flee to refuge.”

  “How many march in this army?” asked Menard grimly.

  “Three hundred or so.”

  They dropped back to confer with the villagers, but the conference was a short one. Soon the trio returned. “What do you want us to do?”

  Joss beckoned, and Anji walked up, surveying the assembly as they stared and muttered. “This is Captain Anji, commander of the Olossi militia by request and consent of the Olossi council.”

  “He’s an outlander.”

  “So he is. Olossi would be a ruin today if not for him.”

  By their expressions, they weren’t convinced.

  “If you’ll hear me out,” said Anji, facing their skepticism without any sign of discomfort, “I’ll tell you that I consider myself a Hundred man now. I have an estate in the Barrens. I have a pregnant wife.”

  “A cursed beautiful one,” said Joss in the tone of a jealous man, which got a laugh.

  “Go on,” said Menard, who with the others had relaxed a bit at the mention of a child. If a man had children, and land, then he had something to defend.

  Anji indicated Joss. “The marshal here will be sending four reeves, in pairs, to fly north and south to patrol the river and give us warning should the enemy decide to attempt a river crossing elsewhere. I’ll need you to detail twenty or thirty men, if you have them, who can march at speed to any point of contact, should it be necessary.”

  “What about the village?” asked the woman.

  “We’ve brought a cadre of trained militiamen from Olossi to aid with the defense here. Ver, I’ll need three of your largest and sturdiest fishing nets and your heaviest stone weights. We will require all of the arrows, javelins, slings and stones you have in case they try to force their way across the river. Move the livestock out of the village and conceal it. We’ll need, in addition, brave souls to remain in the village, working as if nothing is amiss, to lure in the demon. They’ll be armed, ready to fight if we’re forced to engage.”

  They listened eagerly. They’d been expecting this, Joss saw. They’d had trouble, and scant hope of defeating new trouble should it come. Because in times like these, trouble would come. Scar spread his wings, to catch the sun, and the villagers took a nervous step back.

  Grinning, Anji examined the crowd, nodding at folk to acknowledge them. Young men, especially, moved toward him, despite the big eagle. “Know your vulnerabilities and defend them. Think how, if you were your enemy, they might overcome you. Prepare for the unexpected. As for the demon, I intend to confront him myself.”

  “BOLD WORDS,” SAID Joss after the villagers had hurried away to make ready and the militia men carried by eagles from Olossi had received their instructions. “Chief Tuvi could not face the one that entered your house.”

  “Mai faced the creature. How am I to do less? It must be done, to understand what we battle. These Guardians of yours, upholders of justice, are nothing but tales. This is not a Guardian.”

  “Maybe not. Maybe it is. Either way, I agree we must confront it.”

  “You mean to stay here?”

  “I do. The rest of the flight will move out of sight to the northeast.”

  A pair of older women walked out from the village and, politely but without smiling, offered them cordial. He knocked back two cups, feeling the buzz of a headache recede. Anji thanked them, and the women walked over to offer drink to the pair of reeves who, waiting on Joss’s orders, had volunteered for the hardest task of the day.

  “I note,” said Joss once he was sure the women were out of earshot, “that you didn’t tell them about the strike force that’s riding up from behind.”

  “What none know, no traitor can reveal.”

  “You think there’s a traitor in this village?”

  “Three hundred men hid out on the Olo Plain for almost five months, and only now make their break north? I choose not to take the chance.”

  BY EARLY AFTERNOON the eagles were flown, the village emptied, militia concealed, and volunteers loitering in places visible on the far shore where the road ended at river’s edge. Menard had stayed, but every other elder, all the children, and most of the women had left.

  The sun swung over the arc of the sky. As the afternoon grew late, its rays glinted off the water as if to blind the town to the coming threat. Forested slopes covered much of the land on the far side, although trees had been cut back on either side of the road by folk gathering fuel or supplying logs to villages downstream. It was a peaceful enough scene. Yet Joss, standing beside Anji in the town’s watchtower with a good view, felt uneasy, as at the approach of an ill wind.

  “Did you tell Mai you meant to face a Guardian?”

  Anji ignored the question and indicated the covered platform that housed the ferry winch and operators. The ferry itself, a sturdy raft with railings, bumped against the dock. “Do you see it?”

  At first Joss thought it was a trick of light scattering off the river. The hells! A winged horse flapped over the river, circled Westcott once, and descended, landing in the open ground between ferry and gate beside the Ladytree and traveler’s trough where any soul might water. Wings folded, the horse stepped to the trough and dipped its nose toward the water.

  Aui! It was such a stunningly beautiful creature that at first he noticed nothing except the elegance of its head and neck and the glorious pale wing feathers.

  Then he blinked again, startling as though doused with water, and realized Anji was gone. The folk in fields had dropped to their knees.

  Menard walked out from the gate alone, below Joss. “Greetings of the dusk, ver.” His voice carried clearly in the silence, although he kept his head bowed.

  The man riding the winged horse looked like exactly the sort of man you would find selling fans or eels in the marketplace or dipping cordial for customers at an inn. He wore a dark green cloak appropriate for the rainy seasons. “Greetings, Uncle. Now hurry yourself. Have your ferry released. I’ve men to cross over from the other side. We’ll need food and drink and shelter for the night.”

  “Of course, ver. We’ll be happy to accommodate. Before I send my lads to the winch, best we discuss how many travel with you and how much coin we’ll need to lay on a feast. If you’ll come with me to our council hall, modest I admit but I think we may be justly proud of our cordial, we can discuss—”

  “Look at me!”

  Surprised, the old man looked up. He stumbled, a hand pressed to one cheek as though he’d been struck. “Neh, neh! It wasn’t only me that started the fight. I was drunk and he was jealous. My clan paid the fine—more coin than that vermin was ever worth—and the assizes court approved the finding and the reckoning.”

  “You always hated him. Your clan was respected, and his despised. So easily you atone for stealing his life, which can never be repaid. And yet still you think about it, every day it eats at your heart . . .”

  From the safety of the watchtower, Joss clutched the railing as the old man buckled, knees folding, and sank to the ground.

  “How can coin absolve blood?” the cloaked man pressed on. “I know all who have transgressed, and what they hide. There is not one I have faced, not even children, who does not seek to conceal wrongdoing, greed, petty and grand cruelties, the way he pinches and prods others just for the sake of—”

  The shadows had lengthened, hiding that which plummeted out of the sky. Joss gasped, although he had not forgotten. Two eagles pulled up sharply, wings opening. Talons released weighted nets, and one fell directly atop the
cloaked man, while the second tangled across the head and forequarters of the winged horse. It dipped its head and shook it off, backing toward its rider.

  Two arrows thumped into the man’s torso. In their wake, with two more arrows flying wide, Anji ran out with sword drawn.

  Joss shouted. “Don’t approach him! Captain! Stay back!”

  The man let the arrows be as blood leaked through the cloth of his long jacket. He swung to face Anji, who pulled up short, face a study in concentration as the two stared at each other.

  “You are veiled,” said the man. “Just as the other out-lander was. Are you Guardians?”

  Anji lunged, sword cutting toward him.

  The winged horse had come within range. It kicked, and its hoof caught Anji in the hip and sent him sprawling. Four Qin soldiers ran forward, but the cloaked man met them with a gaze that staggered them. They dropped back. He flung off the netting, mounted, and flew.

  Joss cursed. He whistled for Scar, dropped down the ladder, and ran out the gate. Anji got to his feet, wincing as he tested his weight.

  He looked at Joss. “What sorcery does he wield, to fell that old man without touching him, and confound my good soldiers likewise, with merely a look?”

  Sengel and Toughid came up, rubbing their heads and muttering.

  “What did you see?” asked Joss. “He never looked my way.”

  “I saw a creature who can remain standing with two Qin arrows buried deep in his chest. That is not a man.”

  “He’s a demon,” said Menard hoarsely from the ground. “He tried to eat out my heart.”

  Anji shaded his eyes against the setting sun. “Likely he is a demon. Meanwhile, he’s escaped. Toughid, call in the militia. Pull in the strongest village men as well. The enemy will reach here soon.” He winced again, took limping steps.

  “Anything broken?” Joss asked. “That looked hard.”

  “I’ve taken worse. I must have been at the limit of the mare’s range. Bad enough, as you can see.” He looked up as Scar swooped low and came to rest by the river’s shore. “Do you mean to fly?”

  “Neh. I’ll see this through.”

  Anji nodded. “Good. They’ll try to cross at night. Here’s my plan.”

  THE SUN YIELDED tonight. Campfires sprang up on the far shore as the enemy reached the limit of the road. In teams of three, villagers and militiamen dispersed along the bank. Every flopping fish earned a start. If a branch floated past, a village man threw a stone. Across the river, axes chopped and falling trees splintered.

  But night passed, and no one attacked.

  In the morning, the remaining eagles and reeves took flight, all but Scar and Joss. Staying above arrow range, they scouted up and downstream while meanwhile a reeve flew south along the road to seek out the strike force.

  The chopping continued. A reeve landed to report that the enemy was constructing a dozen rafts, logs lashed together with rope. The building site lay upstream.

  “What do you think?” the villagers asked Anji.

  “They’ll come at night.”

  “We’ll be overwhelmed!” cried Menard.

  The sergeant in command of the twenty Olossi militia men who had been dropped in by the eagles stepped forward. “Can’t we delay them, Captain? Destroy their rafts? Hold the shore?”

  “What good will that do?” demanded Menard. “They’ll just float downstream and put to shore elsewhere.”

  “Patience,” said Anji with an unexpected smile. After a night off his feet, he was still stiff, but his gait was steady. He surveyed his troops: the Olossi militiamen, four Qin guardsmen, and forty or so locals. “We have to keep them pinned on the other bank. How deep is the river?”

  “Shallow to the height of a man for more than a stone’s throw from shore on this side. The current cuts closer to the far shore, and has for years. That’s why the ferry leads on this side. You can see there’s a ramp of paving stones somewhat eroded on the other side. It gets steep fast.”

  “The current will pull them downstream.”

  “Downstream the bank on our side gets steep, as the current shifts. If I were them, I’d put the rafts into the water upstream and aim for the shoals here.”

  Anji stared across the water. A great deal of movement was going on, upstream. “They seem to have the same idea. Yet I wonder. I read a tale once in the archives of the palace library . . . a hidden barricade under water that slowed the advance of a fleet.”

  “May the Great Lady come to our aid, Captain. If you have any ideas at all, let us know them.”

  Eyes still narrowed, Anji glanced at Joss. “Marshal?”

  “We’ve some oil of naya, but with forest cover, wet ground, and mobile troops, it’s unlikely to meet with the same success as at Olossi.”

  But Anji, Joss saw, had already ridden on in his own mind. He’d concocted a new plan, and like the others, Joss found himself wondering, waiting, and hoping.

  “The oil of naya will find its use. But we don’t want to scatter them. We want to kill them. Here’s what we’ll do.”

  FOR THE REST of the day, eagles ran sweeps over the enemy but raised no alert. Again, the sun surrendered the sky to the brilliant stars. With night, the winch turned and the ferry moved out into the channel, piled high with wooden furniture and bales of old hay, drenched with a bit of oil and a lot of lard. From the bank, Joss listened for and thought he heard the faint plops of villagers rolling off the back, each trio hauling a bundle of spears and poles. As the raft neared the deep channel, it burst into flame so bright that Joss blinked back tears. The winch cranked a few more times. Shouts rose from the far shore as arrows whistled across the water, many consumed by the fire. The raft blazed, rocked by the streaming current, a bright distraction as the swimmers did their best to drive poles into the shallows. They finished their work as the flames began to die. One by one, they emerged on shore. When the count was made, one had gone missing, but no one knew if he’d drowned, lost heart and fled downstream, or swum across to warn the enemy.

  For a while longer the raft glowed and the enemy did not react.

  Then their rafts hit the water. The splash and slop of poles in the water and occasional words of encouragement or barked obscenities bounced off the surface to carry farther, perhaps, than intended. Beside Joss, a youth crouched on the shore, carefully piling stones and moistening the straps of his sling by sucking on the leather.

  As the rafts entered the channel and picked up speed, arrows arced out from the rafts, most dropping harmlessly in the water while a few peppered the shore. Anji’s troops, even the raw village recruits, held position behind their own crude shields of planks or sturdy wicker.

  The rafts angled toward shore. A thunk sounded from the lead raft as its bottom caught on one of the submerged poles. The four Qin soldiers lit pitch-stained arrows and loosed them at the first raft, then at a second and third that, scraping on poles, swirled in the current. Fire spurted. Panicked men shouted. Rafts rocked, and bodies tumbled into the river.

  “On your left,” Joss shouted to mark a swimmer paddling desperately into the shallows. Arrows followed him until his stroke ceased and his corpse floated away, borne on the current.

  One group of six men made the shallows and, banding together, used a pair of wicker shields and their spears to push onto shore. Ten Olossi militiamen closed in a disciplined group to confront them, trying to drive them back. Menard had crafted a long pole with a thickly knotted rope fastening a club to one end, and driven bits of jagged metal into the club. Coming up on the flank of the militia, he hefted the flail and, grunting, swung it. The club crashed down twice on enemy shields, which shuddered but did not splinter. Again the old man raised the flail, but this time as he stretched, an arrow caught him in the belly and a javelin’s bite drove him back. He fell, tried to raise himself, and collapsed. With a scream of rage, one of the village lads hoisted the flail and waded forward, club swinging so wildly that the Olossi militia men cried out both in warning and in laughter
as the lad broke apart the enemy.

  “Heya!” the youth next to Joss leaped back, abandoning his neat pile of stones.

  Joss spun to face a man splashing up out of the shallows. Joss stabbed with his short sword, wrenched it free, and waded in as a second man lunged at him. He knocked aside a spear thrust and cut him down, and leaped back to realize he had just killed two men.

  This was butcher’s work. Reeves were never meant to chop and hack like ordinands.

  “Marshal! Your back!”

  Spinning, he faced one of the enemy, who had axe raised; the man slumped, toppling forward and bringing Joss down with him. He squirmed out as the man twitched, to find Sengel grinning at him as he offered a hand up.

  “Hu! That was close!”

  Six rafts had been released into the waters, and the stragglers, their arrows spent and their comrades dead, dove into the water to swim back to the far shore. A single raft floated downstream, spinning away in the night as arrows vanished harmlessly into the river behind it.

  Above the eastern woodland, the Basket Moon rose.

  Anji trotted out to Joss, streaks and splashes of blood revealing he’d done his share of fighting. “Thirty of the enemy accounted for, and more lost in the river, I expect. We lost one man in the river, another three in the fighting on shore, and have five wounded. But we’ve delayed them.”

  Joss wiped his brow. “I need a drink,” he said, looking at the bodies littering the shore. Villagers were already cutting their throats to make sure they were dead, stripping anything of value, and then dragging the bodies into the river.

  “Now we wait for the strike force?” Joss asked.

  Anji nodded. “Now we wait.”

  JOSS WHISTLED SCAR in at dawn. The enemy camp was in turmoil, men arming, rafts abandoned. It looked as if they were readying to march upstream to Hammering Ford. He got high enough to scan several mey down the road, and he did suck in air, then, as Scar chirped interrogatively, feeling the shocked tightening of Joss’s shoulders.