Wolf in Shadow

by David Gemmell

  “And there is a tribe of them?”

  “There are scores—perhaps hundreds—of tribes. They tend to gather in small packs within the tribes and are pretty harmless. They live on rabbits, pigeons, turkeys—any small animal they can bring down with their bows and slings. Ridder says they make fine workers while they live. They’re docile, you see, and do as they’re told. But since the lung fever Ridder has been desperate for workers. Now any stranger will end up in Castlemine. He even has men scouring the countryside. Sometimes we see wagons driven into the castle with whole families doomed to the shafts and tunnels. It used to be that a man could work his way out in two or three months, but now we never see them.”

  “Why is he allowed to do this?” asked Shannow. “It is a big settlement; there must be three, maybe four hundred people here.”

  “You don’t know much about people, do you?” said Flora. “Ridder is the main source of wealth. Those of us who live beneath the castle need have no fear of brigands or raiders. We live comfortable lives; we have a school and a church. Life is good.”

  “A church?”

  “We are a God-fearing people here,” she said. “The pastor sees to that.”

  “And how does your pastor react to Ridder’s methods?”

  She chuckled. “Ridder is the pastor!”

  “You are right, lady. I do not know much about people.”

  “Ridder quotes the Bible with every other sentence. The verse that always seems to surface is ‘Slaves, obey your master.’ ”

  “It would,” said Shannow. His eyes were fixed on the door of the hall, which opened as a tall gray-haired man stepped onto the porch.

  “Is that Baker?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  Shannow removed a shiny Barta coin from his pocket and placed it on the table. “My thanks to you, lady.”

  “It is too much,” she protested.

  “The laborer is worthy of the hire,” he told her. Flora let him out through the front door, and he crossed the street swiftly, moving up behind the storekeeper. The man was a little unsteady on his feet.

  “Good evening, Meneer Baker.”

  The man turned his watery blue eyes toward Shannow. “Good evening.” He blinked and rubbed his eyes. “Do I know you?”

  “Only as a customer. Would you be so kind as to open your store?”

  “At this time of night? No, sir. Come back when the sun is up.”

  “I am afraid that will not be convenient, but I shall pay you well for the privilege.”

  “I suppose you want hunting goods,” said Baker, fishing in his pocket for the key to the store.

  “Yes.”

  “I would have thought Ridder would have been well pleased today.”

  “How so?”

  “With the pair Riggs brought back. I shouldn’t have thought you would need to rush out in the dead of night.”

  The storekeeper pushed open the door, and Shannow followed him inside.

  “Well, choose what you need. I’ll put it on Ridder’s bill.”

  “That will not be necessary. I have coin.”

  Baker seemed surprised but said nothing, and Shannow took salt, dried oats, sugar, herb tea, and a sack of grain. He also bought two new shirts and a quantity of dried meat.

  “You are a friend of Riggs, I see,” said Baker, pointing to the Hellborn pistol at Shannow’s side.

  “He has one of these?”

  “He took it from the man they captured today—not the black man, the other one with the forked beard.”

  Ruth stared from her study window at the students taking their midday break on the wide lawns below. There were thirty-five young people at Sanctuary, all willing to learn and all yearning to change the world. Usually the sight of these young missionaries lifted Ruth’s spirits, gave her renewed belief. But not today.

  The evils of men like Abaddon she could withstand, for they could be countered by the love at Sanctuary. But the real dangers to the new world, she knew, were men such as Jon Shannow and Daniel Cade—dark heroes, understanding the weapons of evil and turning them on their users, never realizing they were merely perpetuating the violence they sought to destroy.

  “You are an arrogant woman, Ruth,” she told herself aloud, turning from the window. The parable of man was there to be seen within the Sipstrassi Stones, a gift from the heavens that could heal, nurture, and feed. But in the hands of men that was never enough; it had to be turned to death and despair.

  Ruth could feel herself slipping from harmony, so she took a deep breath and prayed silently, drawing the peace of Sanctuary deep into her soul. The bay window disappeared as she closed the study to all intrusion. Pine-paneled walls surrounded her. The carved oak chair shimmered and became a bed. A stone hearth with a glowing log fire appeared, and Ruth lay back and watched the flames.

  She felt the presence of another mind, and her defenses snapped into place as she sat up and tentatively reached out her thoughts.

  “May I enter?” came a voice. Power emanated from the source of the sound, but she could sense no evil there.

  She lowered the defensive wall, and a figure appeared within the room. He was tall and bearded, with blue eyes and braided hair. Upon his brow was a circlet of silver, at the center of which sat a golden stone.

  “You are Pendarric?” she asked.

  “I am, my lady.”

  “The Lord of the Blood Stones.”

  “Sadly true.” A divan appeared beside him with braid-edged cushions of down-filled satin. He lay on his side, resting on one elbow.

  “Why are you here?”

  “To make amends, Ruth.”

  “You cannot undo the evil you sired.”

  “I know that; you are not the world’s only source of wisdom. You are still mortal, lady. I was overwhelmed by the power of the stones, and I would argue against judging me. At the end my own strength triumphed, and I saved many thousands of my people. Abaddon is not so strong.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “He is lost to the Sipstrassi. Nothing remains of the man you wed; he is not the father of the evil he sires any more than I was. He has lost the balance, even as you have.”

  “I am in harmony,” Ruth told him.

  “No, you are mistaken. In obliterating the desires of self, you have lost in your struggle. Harmony is balance; it is understanding the evil we all carry but holding it in stasis by the good we should desire. Harmony is achieved when we have the courage to accept that we are flawed. Everything you have achieved here is artificial. Yes, Sanctuary is pleasant. But even you, when you leave to travel the world, find that your doubts have grown. Then you fly back like a moth to the purifying candle. The truth should remain even when Sanctuary is gone.”

  “And you understand the truth?” she asked.

  “I understand true harmony. You cannot eradicate evil, for without it how would we judge what is good? And if there is no greed, no lust, no baleful desires, what has a man achieved who becomes good? There would then be no mountains to climb.”

  “What do you suggest that I do?”

  “Take the swan’s path, Ruth.”

  “It is not time.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I am needed. There is still Abaddon.”

  “And the wolves in the shadows,” said Pendarric. “If you need me, I will be with you.”

  “Wait! Why did you appear to Jon Shannow?”

  “He is Rolynd. And only he can destroy the wolf you fear.”

  After he had gone, Ruth sat alone, once more staring into the flames. For the first time in many years she felt lost and uncertain and reached out, seeking Karitas and drawing him to her. His power was fading, his image drifting and unclear.

  “I am sorry, Ruth, I will not be here to help you much longer. The ties that hold me to this land are weakening by the hour.”

  “How is Donna Taybard?”

  “Her power is too great for her, and it grows at a frightening pace. Abaddon plans to sacrifi
ce her on Walpurnacht, and then her power will soak into the Blood Stone. You must stop it, Ruth.”

  “I cannot.”

  “You have the strength to destroy the entire Hellborn nation.”

  “I know what power I have,” snapped Ruth. “Do you believe the thought has not crossed my mind? Do you not think I was tempted when I saw the Hellborn bearing down on your village? I cannot help her in the way you desire.”

  “I shall not argue with you, Ruth,” he said, reaching out a spectral hand, which she took into her own. “I have not the time. I love you, and I know that whatever you do will be for the best as you see it. You are a rare woman, and without you I would probably still be Hellborn. But you saved me.”

  “No, Karitas. You were strong enough to seek me out. It took great courage to see yourself as you were and struggle to change.”

  For one brief moment the image of Karitas glowed like fire, then it was gone. Ruth reached out, but nothing remained.

  Loneliness settled on her, and she wept for the first time in more than a century.

  Con Griffin had trouble controlling his temper. The Hellborn officer Zedeki had ridden into the settlement alone and asked to speak to the community’s leaders. Accordingly, Griffin had assembled Jacob Madden—still weak from his wounds—Jimmy Burke, Ethan Peacock, and Aaron Phelps to listen to Zedeki’s demands.

  What Griffin heard made him tremble with fury.

  “We will leave you in peace in return for one hostage who will accompany us to our city and meet our king. We want Donna Taybard.”

  “Or else?” said Griffin.

  “I now have a thousand men. My orders are to destroy you if you do not comply.”

  “Why do you want my wife?”

  “She will not be harmed.”

  “She is pregnant and cannot travel.”

  “We know this, and there is a comfortable wagon being prepared. Believe me, Mr. Griffin, we wish to see no harm come to the child.”

  “I will not do it,” declared Griffin.

  “That is your choice. You have until tomorrow at noon.” With that he left them, and Griffin was dismayed to see that none of his friends would meet his eyes when he returned to the table.

  “Well?” he asked them.

  “They ain’t left us many choices, Con,” said Burke.

  “You don’t mean you agree?”

  “Hold on, Griff,” put in Madden, “and think it through. We can’t survive against them in a war, and you’ve done us right proud so far. But we’ve all got families to care for … and they said no harm would come to her.”

  “You believe that, Jacob? Look at me, damn you! You believe that?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted.

  “She’s one of us,” said Peacock. “We can’t let them take her; it’s not Christian.”

  “What is Christian about starting a war where we all get wiped out?” asked Aaron Phelps, his fat face streaked with sweat.

  “Let’s sleep on it,” said Madden. “We’ve got till noon.”

  They agreed on that and left Griffin sitting by the cold woodstove and staring at the ceiling. As the last one left, the bedroom door opened and Eric walked across to Griffin.

  “You won’t let them take my mother, will you, Con?”

  Griffin looked at the boy, and tears fell suddenly, streaking his face. Eric ran forward, throwing his arms around Griffin’s neck.

  The following day dawned bright and clear, but in the west dark clouds gathered with the promise of storms. The committee met once more, and Griffin forced a vote to include the whole community in the decision. Zedeki rode into the settlement with a wagon and waited for the votes to be cast.

  One by one the settlers filed past the wooden box; even the children had been allowed to vote. Toward noon the Hellborn army came into sight, ringing the high ground at the valley’s entrance and sitting their dark horses in chilling silence.

  Madden and Peacock were detailed to count the votes, and they carried the box into the scholar’s small cabin. Ten minutes later Madden called for Burke, and the oldster joined them. Then he moved among the men, and the crowd dispersed to their homes.

  Griffin could barely contain himself.

  Zedeki glanced up at the army and smiled. What a preposterous charade this was. He could see that Griffin knew the outcome, as did he, but the lengths to which ordinary people would go to preserve their pride remained a source of great amusement.

  Madden emerged from the cabin and walked past Griffin, who half rose only to be waved back. The farmer made his way to the wagon.

  “Might as well be on your way,” he said. “We ain’t giving her up.”

  “Are you insane?” asked Zedeki, his arm sweeping up to point to the armed riders. “Do you think you can withstand them?”

  “Only one way to find out,” said Madden. All around the settlement men and women were moving from their homes, weapons ready, to crouch behind the log screens.

  Zedeki swallowed hard. “You are condemning the settlement to death.”

  “No,” said Madden. “You’re the man for that job. I don’t trust you, Zedeki; I’ve seen your kind before. Your word ain’t worth ant spit. You want Donna, you ride in and take her.”

  “We will,” said Zedeki, “and you won’t live long enough to regret your decision.”

  Madden watched as Zedeki swung the wagon and toyed with the idea of killing him. Instead, he merely stood and waited as the wagon lumbered up the rise. He drew his pistol and cocked it as Griffin joined him.

  “Thanks, Jacob.”

  “Don’t thank me. I voted for letting her go.”

  “Thanks, anyway.”

  As the wagon cleared the skyline, the Hellborn riders turned their mounts and disappeared. For an hour or more the settlers waited for the attack, but it never came. At last Madden and Griffin saddled their horses and rode up the rise. The Hellborn had gone.

  “What’s going on here, Con?”

  “I don’t know. They weren’t frightened, that’s for sure.”

  “Then why?”

  “It’s got something to do with Donna. They want her badly, but I think they want her alive.”

  “For what reason?”

  “I don’t know. I could be wrong, but it’s the only thing that fits. I have a strong feeling that had we given her up to them, they would have butchered the settlement. But they’re frightened Donna might get hurt.”

  “What do we do?”

  “We’ve no choice, Jacob. We wait.”

  * * *

  Donna watched it all from the seeming sanctuary of the spirit sky. Her body lay in a virtual coma, but her spirit rose unchained to soar free between the gathering clouds and the green valley. She saw the settlers vote to fight for her and was both gladdened and saddened, for she also saw the treachery in the heart of Zedeki.

  The settlement was doomed.

  Unable to face stark reality, Donna fled in a tumbling blur where colors swirled around her and stars grew as large as lanterns. There was no time there, no feeling for the passing of seconds or hours or days. At last she stopped and floated above a blue sea where gulls wheeled and dived around coral islands. It was peaceful there and beautiful.

  Calm came to her, and peace filled her like the coming of dawn after the sleep of nightmare.

  A woman appeared alongside her, and Donna felt tranquillity flowing from the newcomer. She was middle-aged, with iron-gray hair and a face of ageless serenity.

  “I am Ruth,” she said.

  “They are going to kill my son,” said Donna. “My boy!” There were no tears, but there was anguish, and Ruth felt it.

  “I am sorry, Donna. There are no words.”

  “Why do they act in this way?”

  “They have a dream that has haunted men since the dawn of time. Conquest, victory, virility, power—it is evil’s most potent weapon.”

  “I’m going home,” said Donna. “I want to be with my son.”

  “They want you as a
sacrifice,” said Ruth. “They need to draw power from your death; they need you to feed their evil.”

  “They won’t have me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “My strength has grown, Ruth. Abaddon cannot take me. I will take my soul and my strength far from him and let my body die like a shell.”

  “That will take great courage.”

  “No,” said Donna, “for then I will be with my son and my husband.”

  Donna began the long journey home. This time she traveled without panic, and the swirling colors became events, a kaleidoscopic history of a world touched with insanity. Caesars, princes, khans and kings, emperors, lords, dukes and thanes—all with a single purpose. She saw chariots and spears, bows and cannon, tanks and aircraft, and a light that shone over cities like a giant torch. It was all meaningless and insurmountably petty.

  It was dark when she descended into the valley. Madden and Burke were standing guard, waiting with grim courage for the attack they knew was imminent. She floated above Eric’s bed; his face was peaceful, his sleep soothing.

  Karitas appeared beside her.

  “How are you faring, Donna?” His voice was strangely cold, and she shivered.

  “I cannot stand to see them die.”

  “They do not have to die,” he said. “We can save them.”

  “How?”

  “You must trust me. I need you to return to your body, and then we will leave the valley. The settlers will be in no danger if you are not here, and I will take you to a place of safety.”

  “My son will live? Truly?”

  “Come with me, Donna.”

  She was unsure and hesitated. “I must tell Con.”

  “No. Speak to no one. When it has all blown over, you may return. Trust me.”

  Donna fled to her body and saw Con Griffin asleep in the chair beside her bed. He looked so tired. She settled back into herself and concentrated on rising, but once more she was liquid within a sponge.

  “Picture your body as a thin sheet of copper,” Karitas advised. “Believe it to be metallic.”

  It was easier now, and she half rose, then fell back.

  “Concentrate, Donna,” urged Karitas. “Their lives depend on you.”