Shadows

by Michael Duncan

  Morryn looked up at the sergeant, as if he were surprised at Lorik’s presence. “Are you going to check and secure the animals?” His question carried a tone of frustration at the prospect.

  “Yes, sir,” Lorik said. “It is standard procedure to secure our mounts and check all gear.”

  “Don’t bother,” Morryn said. “I’ll do it—you tend to the fire.”

  “As you wish, sir,” Lorik said. He looked at Morryn with a puzzled expression, not sure what to make of the officer’s demeanor. Lorik saluted and returned to the fire, a warmer companion than Morryn, Lorik thought. He tossed two more branches onto the blaze and sat down on a nearby rock. Something’s wrong, he mused. I can’t place my finger on it, but something’s wrong. He stared back toward Morryn, the lieutenant’s tall frame illuminated in the glow of the firelight. Morryn sat unmoved and looked like a weathered statue. For the first time in his military service, Lorik sensed a strong, unsettled apprehension about the man who commanded them.

  The first hour passed in cold, uneventful duty. The snow that fell at first like gentle feathers now came down with renewed vigor. Large, cold flakes of the winter’s blast dominated the atmosphere and weighed down the tents. The fire voiced its strong disapproval of the snowfall and hissed with every flake, but Lorik’s diligence kept the fire alive and warm for the troops who slept.

  The air was thick, alive with swirling white reflections and reduced visibility so that Lorik had to squint to see the far side of the campsite. Yet, across the small compound, he spied the shadowed form of Lieutenant Morryn, motionless near his tent. If Lorik hadn’t known who sat there, he might have assumed that it was the projection of a fallen tree or the trick of shadows. However, worry as he did, it was time for him to rouse the next shift and take to the comfort of his tent.

  Lorik approached the tent pitched to the right of his own. Snow had accumulated all around the entrance and drifts had built up along the edges. He opened the flap to see two soldiers. They were awake and talked with each other in whispered tones. “Not sleepy?” Lorik questioned. “Well, it’s time for the both of you to get your gear and take the watch. Snowfall is heavy tonight so bundle up.”

  The two men nodded in acknowledgement and the younger of the two spoke up, “Sergeant?”

  “Yes, what is it?” Lorik asked.

  The young man continued, “Well, I am… I mean, we were wondering, how long do you think that we’ll be here? I don’t want to complain, sir, but we’ve been gone from home a long time.”

  “I don’t know what the lieutenant’s purpose is or how long he plans to remain in this place, but the captain left him in command,” Lorik said.

  “But, Sergeant, what are we doin’ here? The captain always told us where we were goin’ and why. What does the lieutenant want out here?”

  Lorik felt the same frustration but needed to maintain discipline. “Soldier, that’s not your concern. You don’t have any other purpose than to obey the commands of your superior, and right now, that is Lieutenant Morryn. Until that duty is done you will follow his orders.” Lorik tried to sound steeled in his resolve, but his own thoughts waivered with anxious doubts.

  “But Sergeant,” the other soldier chimed in, “this doesn’t make any sense.” He stood and paced back and forth within the cramped space of his tent. “With the captain, we knew what his orders were—and why. It seems all we know is that we are camped on the edge of perhaps one of the most hostile regions in all of Celedon. Now, don’t get me wrong, sir, it doesn’t scare me to be here, but to be here for no reason…well…that concerns me.”

  “That’ll be enough from the both of you. We are here, and we will do what duty demands. The time has come for the both of you to take watch. Keep an eye on the horses, and watch the perimeter. Keep fuel on the fire, and wake the next tent in an hour. We’ll have no more discussion about why we’re here.” Lorik crossed his arms and waited as the two men strapped on their swords.

  They exited the tent, and the sergeant noticed that Lieutenant Morryn no longer brooded in solitude. In fact, Morryn was nowhere to be seen. Lorik dismissed this and hoped the lieutenant had retired to bed. He reiterated his orders to the two soldiers and made his way through the onslaught of snow to his own tent. The wind whipped the canvas in rhythmic motion, sometimes in gusts, other times like a gentle whisper.

  Lorik unrolled his sleeping mat and unpacked two heavy wool blankets. He tied the entrance flap down to prevent the chill breeze from blowing in and propped his sword against the center pole. With a sigh of exhaustion, he flopped onto the mat and rolled himself up in his heavy blankets. Ah, sleep, he thought to himself.

  ****

  Morryn watched as Lorik vanished into one of the tents and, with no other guards on duty, he snuck back to the horses and retrieved his pack. At the rear of the encampment, the horses huddled close to one another in an attempt to share warmth and protection from the cold. Inside his saddlebag, the leather-bound tome waited. Its parchment pages crackled as he removed it. He feared someone might discover his prize and didn’t want to risk the possibility the book would be brought back to Celedon and the emperor. He had other plans.

  Morryn covered the book with his cloak and took it back to his tent without any notice. He paused for a moment and listened to the muffled voice of the sergeant in a nearby tent, and then Morryn dashed back to his own quarters. To hide the book, he wrapped it in a cloth, and placed it within the folds of his blanket roll. He was sure no one suspected, and he believed that his plan would deliver to him what his heart craved—power.

  The snow fell unabated and started to fill the gaps between the tents. Morryn listened as the guards fought against the winter blast, desperate to keep the bonfire ablaze. He knew the men suffered discouragement, that their hearts longed to return south, but he needed to make his rendezvous. The winter storm, however, did not bode well for his plans. Patience, he thought, that’s what it will take. He had already put the pieces together, now he just needed to wait and let the picture unfold.

  The night passed without incident and, despite the snow, the soldiers proved their worth and kept the fire ablaze. Lorik emerged from his tent just as the dawn opened up, grey and dismal, to shed its ruddy, pale light upon the world. The last two guards on duty cast more wood upon the fire which sent a shower of embers into the air. The snowstorm ended as it came, with soft snowflakes that drifted with sporadic laziness from the sky. Then the clouds separated to unveil a crisp, blue sky—a welcome sight to the shivering soldiers. The two guards on watch began to wake the rest of the men, moving from tent to tent until the entire squad had roused from their slumber.

  Against the pristine beauty of the new fallen snow, the Shattered Hills lay in dark contrast, a shadowed remnant of an ancient nightmare. Broken crags, large spires, fractured rock, and sharp pinnacles, mysterious and bleak loomed in defiance over the men. To Lorik it appeared as if some great giant had smashed the earth with a cudgel and left destruction as far as the eye could see. A hot breakfast worked well to warm body and spirit and many of the men began to laugh and joke about their destination.

  “Bring on the trolls!” One soldier shouted to the hills. “I’ll take ’em down myself!”

  “Yea, with your breath!” joked another soldier nearby who then elbowed his companion in the ribs.

  Each soldier jumped into the conversation to deliver their verbal jabs as they sparred with each other. Lorik was glad to hear the camaraderie among the soldiers and hoped their morale was strong enough to withstand the Shattered Hills. He looked around for Morryn but didn’t see the tall lieutenant anywhere among the men. He dipped out a bowl of the hot broth and took it to Morryn’s tent. “Lieutenant,” Lorik announced his presence. “Sir, with your permission, may I enter?”

  “Yes, get in here,” the lieutenant’s voice sounded harsh and disturbed.

  Lorik entered and saw Morryn erect, with his sword strapped to his belt. “Sir, I brought you some breakfast. It’s not much, but i
t’s hot.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant,” Morryn said as he retrieved the bowl of warm liquid. “Tell me, how are the men after the night that we had?”

  “Their spirits are up, and they are ready to ride out at your signal. Will we break down the tents or leave a contingent here?” Lorik tried to hide the sense of mistrust that he felt toward the lieutenant.

  Morryn paused, as if he tried to gather his thoughts before answering. “We will need a small band to venture into the hills. Select eight men and we will leave the rest here.” Lorik saluted his commander and left the tent.

  “Fall in!” Lorik barked the command. “Lieutenant Morryn has ordered that eight of you will join us for an expedition into the Shattered Hills. Get your gear and be prepared to leave within the hour.”

  ****

  Morryn knew it was risky to take anyone with him, but concern for the creatures in the Shattered Hills overrode his fear of discovery. He also knew who waited for him and he didn’t trust them. Wizards were, after all, rather unpredictable. But the guild’s promise to give him power—power enough to overthrow the emperor—prompted his decision to deliver up the book to them.

  Morryn left his tent and looked over the men assembled around the fire. The laughter continued as they joked and talked among themselves. One young soldier who stood in close proximity to Morryn’s tent noticed their commander and called the men to attention.

  “At ease,” Morryn said. “Who are the men that will accompany me into the Shattered Hills?”

  “Sir,” the sergeant replied as he approached Morryn, “These eight men have volunteered to accompany us,” he said as he pointed to eight soldiers gathered behind him. “We will be ready to ride out with you within the hour.”

  “Very good,” Morryn replied. “Make sure you ready my horse and prepare for a two-day expedition. Come and get me when you’re ready, I’ll be in my tent.” He turned and ducked back through the canvas flap and disappeared.

  Excitement filled the camp as the eight men readied their packs and gear for the journey. Morryn could hear their voices, some muffled, others whooping in anticipation.

  Time moved slowly as Morryn waited. He opened his pack and took the treasured book from its hiding place. With care, he traced his fingers along the gold emblem on the worn, leather cover. The book felt ancient, with its crisp pages and strange markings. A malicious grin crossed his face.

  “Sir,” Lorik said, “we are mounted and ready!”

  Startled, Morryn quickly hid the book in his pack and strode from his tent. He hiked his cloak high on his shoulders to ward off the chill. He mounted his stallion, its rich black coat and solid build made it a perfect companion. Morryn held up his hand, “Move out!” he shouted and signaled for the men to follow. They left behind the sparse forest and the rest of the men.

  Lorik followed Morryn with the eight others in close formation as they rode east into the broken, harsh terrain. Despite their earlier bravado, each step closer to the Shattered Hills brought a deeper level of anxiety among the men as they murmured their concerns to each other.

  It wasn’t long before the base camp disappeared in the distance behind them. Ahead of them loomed the Shattered Hills. The rock formations possessed no gentle slope or tender rise. Each elevation of shear, sharp rock jutted out of the ground like mammoth shards of broken glass. A pass meandered through the fractured terrain, little more than a narrow corridor that weaved throughout the entire menagerie of outcroppings. The air was cold, as if icy fingers grasped through the skin to freeze the very marrow. In the dismal reaches of the hills, even the sun had no power to warm the earth and the blue sky only intensified the sense of chill.

  The men rode single file through the gap as they quietly progressed along the rough terrain. Hours passed in silence, not even the sound of a bird’s cry, just the rap of shod hooves on the frozen rock.

  “Do you think that trolls actually live here?” whispered one stout soldier. His voice echoed in the unnatural stillness.

  “I don’t know,” another soldier answered. “I’ve not been in a place like this ever before.” He glanced around as if he half expected to see some hideous form leap out of the shadows.

  “Quiet!” Lorik whispered as loud as he dared. “We ride in silence.” With that, the men before him refrained from any further conversation. Even the horses seemed to know better and kept their opinionated whinnies to themselves. Only the rhythmic stroke of hoof against stone gave voice to their journey.

  The sun had reached its zenith when Morryn raised his hand to signal a halt. The men seemed as hungry, cold, and saddle-sore as he was. Quite a few moaned in grateful acceptance for the opportunity to dismount and walk off the stiffness in their legs. Soon after, several sacks of rations circulated through the ranks. The men expressed their misery to one another in whispered discontent, but no one dared to voice displeasure to Morryn.

  One soldier started to light a bit of twigs and a small pile of dried grass.

  “Soldier,” Morryn barked under his breath, “no fire!”

  Shortly they were back on their mounts, riding into the depths of the Shattered Hills. They reached a broad area, a cul-de-sac, with enough room for all the horses and men to stand abreast. Massive rock spires rose up around them like fingers desperate to grasp the sky—and they stood in the palm. In front of them, on the eastern wall, a small cave disappeared into indefinite darkness. From the mouth of the cave, rough hewn steps descended into the depths of the earth.

  Morryn dismounted and approached Lorik. “We will remain here tonight, have the men arrange themselves and post a watch twenty paces down the path.”

  “No disrespect, sir, but what are we doing here?” Lorik voiced the question that rested in the heart of all his men.

  “We are waiting; that is all you need to know. Prepare camp for the night and post the guard.”

  Morryn returned to his mount, checked his saddlebag and unpacked his gear. He listened as the sergeant gave the orders and arranged the schedule for the watch. Just a little while longer, thought Morryn. The men assembled camp on the north side of the ring of spires. They made a campfire with wood they brought. Everyone stood close to the heat and tried to keep warm.

  Morryn paced around the camp. His eyes continued to drift toward the small cave on the eastern wall. He heaved a sigh, anxious and unsettled.

  The hours passed with slow monotony. A hint of new snow appeared as light flakes drifted in a casual pageant through the air. The men huddled near the fire and arranged their beds and gear to capture as much of the heat from the conflagration as possible. Lorik and another, younger soldier stood near the fire as they stirred a small cook pot filled with another mixture of beef and water. With the men preoccupied around the fire, Morryn slipped unnoticed into the eastern cave and disappeared down the steep stairs.

  The cavern was dim. Filtered light from the entrance trickled in and illuminated the ancient stairwell. As night closed in upon the world outside it left the catacomb in repressive darkness. Morryn took a small, luminescent stone from a leather pouch. It radiated a pale blue light, not much brighter than a candle, but in the darkness of the tunnel it was enough for him to navigate the narrow staircase. The ancient tunnel descended into the depths of the earth. His height forced him to take care as the passage was little more than five feet high. The walls were cold and damp, and the stairs slick with moisture.

  He continued, plunging deeper into the musty darkness. The echo of the cavern forced him to ignore the sound of extra footfalls. On one occasion he stopped to listen, cautious that he wasn’t followed, and concerned that some unseen intruder tried to match his steps. If Morryn had been given to fear, the dark cavern would have paralyzed him.

  Time seemed to stand still in the depths of the earth. Morryn had lost track of how long he had navigated the passage when he found himself at the bottom of the rough stone stairs. He stepped out of the stairwell and felt the enormity of a cavernous, dark hall. His faint light failed to
illuminate more than just the few paces before him, but the sense of a vast room was undeniable. To his left two faint red lights bobbed like will-o’-the-wisps. He knew these were the two men who arranged the clandestine meeting. Morryn navigated through broken and fallen rocks, around fractured pillars and several ancient statues to reach the two lights that waited in the distance.

  “Seems you were delayed,” said one raspy voiced man. “We waited far longer than agreed.” His speech triggered an immediate distrust in Morryn, but he needed what these men offered, a weapon of great power.

  “I apologize for my delay, gentleman.” Morryn voice dripped with sarcasm. “It was unavoidable. I couldn’t just sneak off in the night; my duties would not permit such a disappearance. But I am here, and am ready to finish this business.” His patience was thin, and his desire to be back above ground grew with each breath. Morryn disliked the cold, damp claustrophobic feel of the ancient hall and distrusted the two men who stood before him. His skin crawled with the sense malicious eyes watched his every move, eyes that stayed just beyond the limited reach of his light.

  “Yes, of course,” the first man said. Morryn equated the man’s voice to that of a serpent. He was aged, almost ancient, and seemed to fit the dark environment. A hooded cloak covered his face so just his thin pale lips were seen. The wizard reached into his cloak and uncovered a box, jeweled and ornate with gold characters inlaid upon the lid that glimmered in the dim light of the stones. It was small, just big enough to hold a small talisman or jewel.

  “Is that it?” Morryn demanded. He expected to receive a great weapon, not a small, jeweled case.

  “Fool,” the old wizard hissed. “This box contains an object more powerful than your limited wit might imagine. It holds the key to power, enough power to displace the emperor himself.” He held the small case in his hand and displayed its ornate markings to the lieutenant. “You know,” the wizard continued, “the emperor has lost his mind in his desperation to recapture the Book of Aleth…the book you now have. He is obsessed with it, and will destroy his own empire to retrieve it. You came to us to deliver the empire into your hands and we will do it—just give us the book!” The wizard’s words were harsh and firm, and carried a sense of undeniable power. Even the air seemed to shudder at his voice.