Shadow’s Choice
The Lady
Path to Coldhaven
The conflict raging within Shadow causes his spirit to shine like a hillside fire on a moonless night. Having witnessed the scene in the Gathering Hall, Shadow knows his job got a whole lot harder. Few deny Huntmaster Oren’s success rate, but many disapprove of his methods. Shadow’s reluctance to fulfill the contract has grown to a deep conviction that doing so would be wrong, yet Oren’s threats cannot simply be dismissed.
These facts, I gather from Shadow’s body language and surface thoughts. Much of him still lies beyond my reach. He has no wish to defy his father by breaking the contract, but he cannot help the feeling that Victoria’s uncle should be denied the bracers.
“What would Dina do?” Shadow whispers to the night air.
Upon hearing the name a dozen small puzzles resolve for me. Shadow keeps his mind locked tightly, but this name helps me breach his defenses. Inside his mind, a thousand scenes flash, some good, some regrettable. The storm of emotions whirls around the edges of Shadow’s consciousness, but deeper in, a different sort of battle takes place.
Knowing the time to reveal myself has come, I access Shadow’s mind and appear before him, holding my hands out in a calming gesture.
The light surrounding my body catches his attention without destroying his vision. He slams his eyes shut, but the image is already burned onto his brain, letting me dispense with the external avatar.
Talking here should be safe, but with the increase in Darkland creatures, I have no wish to distract Shadow for long. Winning a convert does me no good if he dies.
In the long run, I believe a swift end is sometimes kinder, but such debates must wait. Victoria’s party approaches. Shadow’s internal conflict must be resolved now.
“You have been ‘Shadow’ a long time. Choose a side, Devin. People believe there are only two sides, light and dark, but you and I know that there is a third choice: the shadows. Before this moment, you have chosen based on instinct. You are a great hunter and warrior, but you have no real cause. That is why fighting often felt wrong. I have a cause for you. Will you hear it?”
“What cause?” Shadow asks. His voice sounds brittle like it has gone unused for ages.
“The one who approaches will one day become my Chosen Redeemer.” I send him an image of Victoria and her companions.
Shadow’s mind sharpens.
“Vic?”
I nod.
“I have set her apart, but she must not stand alone. Others should prepare the way. Warn her of Oren’s trap.”
“And if she ignores my warning? What then?” He struggles to keep his voice low.
“She will likely ignore your warning,” I reply. “That does not change the fact that she should make a conscious decision.” I believe Victoria will go to Coldhaven anyway. This warning has more to do with Shadow than Victoria.
“That makes no sense,” Shadow mutters. “If you want me to save her, I should stop her from reaching Coldhaven or fulfill my contract.”
“The choice is yours, Devin, but you must make it now.” Saying thus, I leave his mind.
***
Victoria Saveron
Path to Coldhaven
“Halt!” calls a figure standing in the middle of the path.
“Does that ever work?” Katrina wonders. She clutches the walking staff she picked up when we stopped for lunch hours ago. She slows her approach but does not stop. Her body language tells me she’s tense, but if she truly expected a fight, she would already have assumed her snake or dog form.
“Who are you?” I try to keep things cordial, but my voice snaps anyway. My aching feet don’t feel up to running, and the pack that seemed light this morning feels like a mountain across my shoulders. I’m in no mood for a fight, but this person stands between me and a good night’s rest. My brain’s too tired to figure out if it’s a man or a woman, but I’m reasonably certain the figure is no zombie.
“I am called Shadow, and I bear a message from The Lady.”
My mind reels.
My Shadow?
“Shadow as in ‘Huntsman Shadow,’ son of Supreme Huntmaster Lekros?” asks Tellen.
“The same,” confirms the figure.
“Show us,” I challenge, speaking softly to steady my voice.
Tellen and Katrina shoot me confused glances, but Shadow knows what I am talking about. Nodding, he tugs at a string tucked under his shirt and pulls forth a pendant. Whispering, he makes the pendant light up. It glows with the same eerie yellow light I remember from childhood. For a moment, I think I may finally see my friend’s face, but those hopes dash as the light disappears into the black cloth mask obscuring his features.
“All right, point proven. State your message and be on your way,” orders Katrina.
“Do not stop in Coldhaven. It is a trap.”
“How would you know that?” questions Katrina. “Perhaps this is the trap.”
“Shadow wouldn’t do that,” I declare, putting more confidence into my tone than I feel. The child I knew would never harm me, but how much of that boy is left in this man?
“No huntsman would,” Tellen confirms. “Trickery is a Saroth thing.”
Shadow mumbles something in an old, barely used version of the Arkonai language, but it is too soft to hear over Katrina’s retort.
“The Arkonai I have known are plenty fond of traps.”
Tellen’s ears pick up Shadow’s statement, causing him to become very still.
“What did you say?” I ask Shadow.
The answer comes from Tellen.
“We may have a problem.”
“What now?” I’m thoroughly tired of bad news.
“Why?” demands Katrina a split-second later.
“What awaits us in Coldhaven has been set in motion by Oren. People call him ‘Destroyer,’” Tellen explains.
His words chill me. I have never met Huntmaster Oren, but I must press on into the village if I want to ask about my father. It might be the first brave thing I’ve ever intended to do, and it leaves me nauseous with fear. Nevertheless, I’m drawn to the welcoming lights of Coldhaven like a moth to flame.
“We’re still going,” I declare.
“Very well, but we must be vigilant,” Katrina warns.
“If I die, I’m blaming you,” Tellen says. He means to lighten the mood, but the words stick in my heart like an arrow.
“Go with The Lady’s blessing.” Shadow bows to us and slips away.
Before we cover half the remaining distance to Coldhaven, the great wolf who gave us the food appears in the middle of the path. Eyeing us balefully, the wolf lowers his head and growls. Then, he bounds off into the trees lining the path. A few more yips come at us from the tree line.
“He wants us to follow him,” Katrina notes.
“That’s our second warning away from this place, we should probably heed it,” Tellen points out.
My heart sinks. Now I am torn in two directions. Strong feelings bid me to follow the wolf to safety and to face whatever awaits us in the village.
“Go if you must. I must find my father. Thank you for your aid. I can make it from here.”
“We’re not leaving you,” snaps Katrina.
Tellen sighs and moves ahead of us.
“Knowing Oren, there’s probably an elaborate trap waiting. If we’re going step into it, we might as well do it sooner rather than later. I’m cold and hungry.” Adjusting his pack, he mutters, “They’d better feed us before trying to kill us.”
Chapter 12:
Collaborators and Captives
The Lady
Path to Coldhaven
Soon after Shadow leaves in one direction and Vic, Tellen, and Katrina continue toward Coldhaven, I sense the lone figure hiding beneath the brush alongside the path. I might not have even picked up on his presence had Shadow not nearly stepped on the man. The slight feeling of alarm and the subsequent rush of relief catch my attention.
Focusing on the man, I realize he is Ederon, Oren’s new lackey. As soon as he thinks it is safe, Ederon rises and scampers back to his master. To save myself the trouble of following the slippery spy through the forest’s twists and turns I simply place a mental marker within Ederon’s mind so I can find him when he stops.
I can, of course, split my attention quite well, but instinct tells me Ederon’s message will alter Oren’s plans, which will in turn affect Victoria and the people of Coldhaven. The rapid pace Ederon sets tells me Oren’s camp cannot be far. While I wait, I check on Victoria’s progress. By the time she and her friends safely reach the first house, Ederon has also arrived at his destination.
The camp Ederon unwittingly leads me to consists of a modest fire tended by two bored men, two trussed up captives, and a single tent from which I sense Oren. A quick search of the guards’ minds reveals their names and brief glimpses into their dispositions.
As soon as I see the camp, I understand why Oren chose not to attack Victoria directly. She may not understand her abilities, but they would be more than a match for this crew. Markesh McArn, a Bereft with an obsession for Saroth conjuring magic, has devoted his life to preserving their knowledge. Lerik, Oren’s unofficial apprentice, is more a loyal servant than an able fighting companion. Had Oren’s orders simply been to kill Victoria, he would not have bothered with the other two, but the man knows his business, including when to outsource certain tasks.
“Well, look at what the night spat back,” Lerik notes.
“It’s the disgruntled farmer,” says Markesh. “Welcome back. Pull up a log and we can have us a good chat. These two ain’t much for conversation.” He gestures at the two captives slumped against each other, sound asleep.
“I need to speak with Oren,” Ederon says.
“Why are you back?” asks Oren, emerging from his tent. “I told you to watch for the girl.”
“I did. She’s probably arriving at the village as we speak, but it won’t work I tell ya. Some fella calling himself Shadow already warned her it was a trap.”
“Why’s the girl still going to the village if this Shadow fellow done warned her?” wonders Markesh.
“Don’t question the good fortune, Markesh,” scolds Lerik.
“What exactly did Shadow tell the girl?” Oren asks, ignoring the underlings.
Ederon dutifully repeats what he can remember of the conversation. Though it is far from a perfect rendition, he manages to get the main points across.
“The girl still has no idea what the trap is exactly, but—”
“That’s all right. We still got no idea what the trap is exactly,” Markesh pipes up.
“What do we do now? I doubt the lass will stay long enough to hear them out.” Ederon looks curious to hear the answer.
Oren stares into the fire for a long moment before replying.
“We make this a more open trade instead of a trap.” Pointing to the prisoners, he adds, “Get them up. We’re paying the villagers a visit.”
“Can I bring my friends?” asks Markesh, climbing to his feet.
“Of course, we may need them,” Oren answers, “just remember, no summoning without my permission. Understand?”
Markesh smiles brightly and nods.
***
Victoria Saveron
Home of Elder Willem Baxter, Coldhaven
For people waiting for the right moment to attack us, the folks in Coldhaven sure are a friendly lot. As we near the first house, a group of children meet us and escort us to the Gathering Hall, but before we can settle in, Elder Willem Baxter and his wife, Mary, whisk us off to their home for a hot meal.
Even as we leave the Gathering Hall, I notice our young guides are nowhere to be found. I’m guessing that they’re already alerting the rest of the village to our presence, and I’m starting to wonder if I have a death wish. What part of trap didn’t sink in the first time?
The villagers’ cheerful smiles give me chills, and Katrina eyes everybody suspiciously. Only Tellen seems genuinely relaxed. He’s up ahead with Mary Baxter, chatting away like he hasn’t a care in the world. Every few seconds I’m quelling another intense urge to drop the pack I’m carrying and run out of Coldhaven.
Oddly enough, the meal turns out to be a rather pleasant affair. Once I’m sure the food has not been poisoned, I dig into the generous supply of hot bread and warm, filling chicken and dumpling soup. By silent agreement, both sides keep the conversation off the main issue. We trade stories about zombie attacks, harvesting and hunting woes, and guesses at how many snowfalls we’ll have this winter. Tellen tells our hosts some of his more amusing hunting adventures, and time passes.
Sometime during dessert, I realize the desire to know the problems facing these people has completely deserted me.
Before consciously making any plans, I find myself on my feet with every eye upon me. Manners kick in quickly and I speak.
“Thank you for the wonderful meal, but we should be leaving now.”
Tellen and Katrina also rise, followed quickly by our hosts.
“You can’t leave!” exclaims Willem Baxter.
“Please do not go,” says Mary Baxter. “We would love for you to stay the evening. We have so much to talk about.” Her voice maintains a gentle, slightly rapid cadence, but her smile fails to erase the worry from her eyes.
When did I gain the ability to read people’s eyes? I check again to be sure and get the same impression. Whatever’s going on in this creepy little village, this woman thinks my leaving would be horrible. I search my brain for a suitable way to get to the heart of the matter, when as usual Katrina takes care of it.
“All right, I have had enough of the pleasantries,” declares Katrina. “Let’s skip to the point. What happened? Who or what’s been threatened and what does it have to do with us?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, dear one. We simply insist you stay for the night. It’s far too cold to sleep comfortably out of doors, and we—”
“Oh, it’s no use, Mary!” cries Willem, sitting down in his chair. He looks relieved after the outburst. “It’s obvious they know something’s going on. We’re simply no good at this sort of thing.”
“So state your case and let us make a decision,” Katrina prompts.
“Two of our own have been taken by a man claiming he’ll trade ’em fair for you lot,” explains the elder.
Tellen’s hands hover near his daggers, but his eyes gaze mournfully at the last two bites of pie he didn’t finish.
“Such a shame.”
I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he’s referring to the missing villagers.
“Aye, but there’s more,” states the elder, suddenly looking older. “If we fail to go through with the trade, the man says he’ll have a Darkland portal opened right here. If that happens we’ll be lucky to escape with our lives.”
“This is the hardest thing we’ve ever faced,” Mary Baxter whispers, “but what can we do?”
“We could stay and fight them,” I offer, though I know that plan is flawed.
“How do you even know we’re the ‘lot’ the man’s after?” Tellen queries.
“We were told to expect three young travelers,” Mary explains. “There are few enough travelers in Coldhaven this time of year. He must have meant you. Will you help us?”
“No,” Katrina and Tellen say simultaneously. Katrina’s tone is matter of fact, and Tellen’s voice contains only a hint of uncertainty.
“Yes,” I answer. I meant to say no, but somehow it didn’t work out that way.
Tears spring to Mary’s eyes. Before I can move, I’m gasping for breath thanks to a crushing embrace.
“Oh, you dear, dear, sweet child. You don’t know what this means to us. I knew you would help! I just knew it!”
After an old woman anoints you with tears and thanks, backing out on your word feels very wrong.
“I will help, but I cannot speak for my friends,”
I say, before Katrina or Tellen can protest.
“That’s not happening,” declares a new voice. The man sounds nervous yet determined. “I want my daughter back.”
For a split-second, I think the voice belongs to my father, but I’m quickly disappointed. As one, my friends and I spin to face the newcomer.
I don’t remember what happened next, but soon, I become aware of Mary Baxter bashing a wooden spoon against a metal bucket and screaming.
“Stop it! Stop it! This isn’t helping!”
Instinctively, I freeze and find myself in the common room surrounded by six men moaning and clutching various injuries. Katrina’s in her snake form in one corner hissing at two men carrying sharpened sticks.
Tellen has one dagger tucked under Willem Baxter’s neck and another warding off a man whose expression says he wishes to be elsewhere.
“Get out of here, Vic,” Tellen barks.
Katrina’s cold glare contains the same message.
“No, Victoria, please stay,” orders yet another new male voice. “I insist.”
A small, frightened gasp from Mary Baxter freezes my blood. Three futures—and their prices—play out in my mind. I do not know how I know what I know, but the knowledge comes as naturally as watching a hundred sunsets and then one day truly understanding the magnificence contained therein.
At the risk of sounding mad, I will simply say that these thoughts are mine, yet they do not come from me. My friends and I can escape if we flee immediately, but that path demands the sacrifice of Coldhaven’s people. We can fight and perhaps prevail, condemning only ourselves, the villagers in this room, and the two hostages. The only path leading to life is the one that makes the least sense: surrender.
Slowly, the village men littered around me pick themselves off the ground and stand to either side of the leader, who must be Oren. Likewise, the two men who had attacked Katrina and the one being held back by Tellen’s dagger retreat.
Once the new battle lines have been established, I speak in a voice I hardly recognize.
“Let Tellen and Katrina go in peace.” I sound way too calm. “They must walk a different path.”
“Done,” Huntmaster Oren agrees.
Awakening (Redeemer Chronicles Book 1) Page 6
