The Shadow of Malabron

by Thomas Wharton

  “But you could return to your people,” Rowen said. “Just for a short time, I mean. If we find them, maybe Will can get home…” She faltered when she saw the look of bitterness on Moth’s face.

  “Over the years the gaal blinded us to our own people,” he said, “as if we too have become like Lotan. We cannot pierce the veils of enchantment that the Tain have woven round themselves. Morrigan and I would find the Green Court for you, Will, if we could, but we cannot even find it for ourselves.”

  The burning was seen from afar, and the creatures of forest and mountain grew afraid at the sight and hid themselves in thickets and beneath stones. The sun was veiled in smoke, and men looked at one another with fear, and took up swords and axes…

  — Legends of the Northlands

  WHEN THE RAIN let up they set off to finish crossing the lake. Other than the occasional glimpse of birds, or small animals darting through the tussocks, nothing moved except themselves. They kept careful watch for the shrowde but saw no sign of it.

  Shortly after noon they reached dry ground, and found a track that wound up through the stony hills they had glimpsed from the other side of the lake. The day was cold and sunless, and the raw air seemed to scrape at their faces.

  Before long they caught the scent of a fire. Morrigan investigated and returned to report that a number of people, forty or so, men, women and children, were camped in the woods near by. Finn went to speak to these other travellers. As a knight-candidate of the Errantry, he was the most likely to be journeying alone in these lands. He was not gone long, and when he returned he told the others what he had learned. The people camped in the woods were folk who had once lived near Skald, farmers for the most part and their families. They were abandoning their homes and had banded together for protection as they searched for safer lands.

  “There is no refuge any longer in Skald, they told me,” Finn said. “They would say no more about it. I could tell they wished me gone. Anyone who dares travel alone in this country is suspect.”

  In the afternoon their path crossed a narrow, rising road. The companions decided to risk taking it, for the greater swiftness it would give their route to Skald. As they climbed, the hills on each side grew steeper, until they became sloping walls of bare rock.

  They had not been on the road long when they heard the creak of wheels and the slow clop of hooves approaching from round a bend up ahead.

  “I will meet these folk,” Pendrake said quickly. “An old man is less of a threat, and we may learn more.”

  While the others concealed themselves in the undergrowth, Pendrake sat down on a fallen log by the side of the road. A cart piled with all manner of things came into view, pulled by a dispirited-looking horse. An equally glum-looking cow plodded after the cart on a lead. The driver of the cart, a young man with a dusty, careworn face, caught sight of Pendrake and brought the horse to a halt. Beside him sat a young woman with a child on her knee, and from the cart, hidden among chicken crates and furniture, two other small faces peeped out.

  “Where are you bound, father?” the driver asked. “We have a little room left. Enough for one more, at least.”

  “Much thanks for your kindness, but I am going the other way, towards Skald. Is it much further along this road?”

  “Skald?” the man said sharply, and now he eyed the toymaker with mistrust. “Why would you want to go to there?”

  “My errand takes me to that city.”

  “Then it is a fool’s errand,” the man growled, and flicked the reins. The cart creaked away, raising dust in its wake.

  As evening fell, the road led through a steeply descending ravine. On either side lay a deep, shadowy ditch filled with thorn bushes. They followed the road round a last rocky outcrop and before them, at the far end of a long narrow valley, rose the dark walls of Skald. Beyond the city loomed the black shapes of the hills, silhouetted by the setting sun. As the wind streamed across the valley towards them, Will caught a cold, familiar scent and realized it was snow.

  Even in the twilight Will could see that this city was not at all like Fable. Its outer wall was high and seemed to have been carved out of the stony hillside. The final approach to its gates was a narrow, arching bridge across a dark chasm. The bridge was made of translucent stone and lined with torches burning yellow, red, green and blue, so that the stones themselves seemed to glow with a many-coloured light. What could be glimpsed of the city was not as welcoming. The battlements and towers looked huddled and lifeless. The only other illumination was a sullen, blueish-green flickering that rose here and there among the spires and rooftops.

  “What is that, Grandfather?” Rowen asked. “It looks like fire, but…”

  Pendrake seemed lost in thought, and did not answer.

  “This is worse than I imagined,” he said finally, his voice weary and grave. “Yes, that is a kind of fire, Rowen, but it gives no warmth. I wonder what has happened to the mages who had the guarding of the city. A dangerous force has been let loose here.”

  “Then we should stay away,” Finn said. “This city is as unsafe as the land that surrounds it.”

  “The power of the sword has been growing as we neared the city,” Moth agreed. “If nightcrawlers and shadowfolk now roam free in these streets, they will be drawn to the gaal. And not only that, but the fire obscures my sight, and Morrigan’s, too. Evil could be near by and we might not sense it in time.”

  “I have encountered such fire, and such creatures before,” Pendrake said. “If it came to a choice between Skald and the thing hunting us, I prefer our chances here. However, it is not my decision to make.”

  He turned to Will, who gave the eerily glowing rooftops of the city another look. Did it really matter what he chose? So far they had run from one danger straight into another. He felt nothing inside but weariness and doubt.

  “Skald,” he said, just to end the silence.

  “Morrigan and I should remain outside the city, then,” Moth said, “at least for now. We came here once before and we were not welcome. Besides, we will be of better use to you out here. While you are in the city we can scout out the road ahead, and keep watch for any sign of Lotan or his minions.”

  “Very well,” Pendrake said. “Should we choose a place and time to meet?”

  “We will find you,” Moth said. “We have done it before, after all.”

  Just then Finn raised a hand in warning, and a moment later from out of the ditches rose a group of cloaked figures. Naked steel flashed in the twilight. The companions quickly gathered into a circle and drew their weapons.

  “Who are you?” a low, gruff voice demanded. “Why have you come to Skald? Speak.”

  “We are travellers stopping here on our way to other parts,” Pendrake said in a calm, unhurried tone. “The last time I visited this city the reception was more welcoming.”

  Will peered at the shadowy figures surrounding them. In the gloom he could not be sure how many there were, and the terrifying thought struck him that these were not living people but fetches.

  “Have you not heard?” the voice said. “No one comes to this city now. No one with good intent, anyhow.”

  “If we had known—” Finn began.

  “Silence,” the voice commanded. “Where is the other? The tall one with the bird of the slain. He was here only a moment ago.”

  Will looked around. Somehow Moth and Morrigan had melted into the evening shadows, although he felt sure they were near by, ready to strike if it came to that.

  “They were companions of ours for a time, but they went their own way,” Pendrake said. “You needn’t be concerned about them.”

  “Enough. You will turn round now and go back the way you came, or by the black dog you will regret it.”

  To Will’s astonishment, Pendrake burst into laughter.

  “The black dog,” he echoed, stepping forward. “Only one man I know swears by that animal. Is this your new occupation, Ragnar Harke, waylaying innocent travellers in the road?”
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  There was a brief silence, followed by a murmured consultation among several of the shadowy figures. Then a lantern appeared from underneath a cloak and lit the faces round it. One among these faces held Will’s gaze: it was half hidden by a bushy beard and so broad and ruddy that it was almost troll-like. The tangled hair that framed this strange face was coal-black but streaked with threads of silver. One of the eyes was murky and apparently sightless, while the other stared hard at the toymaker in apparent disbelief.

  “Pendrake?” this man said cautiously, his strange face now going through a swift contortion that took it from deep suspicion to surprise and dawning delight. He drew back his hood and stepped forward. “Nicholas Pendrake of the Bourne, or hang me.”

  “The first of the two, let us hope,” said the toymaker. “I take it hard that you didn’t know my voice, Ragnar. Has it been that many years?”

  “Too many,” the bearded man said, coming forward to grasp the toymaker by the hand. Over his shoulder rested a huge, long-handled axe. His rough face beamed with pleasure, but in the next instant his good eye had taken in the rest of the companions, lingered on Shade, and a shadow passed over his features.

  “What has happened here, Ragnar?” Pendrake asked. “The last time I was in Skald, you were working at your smithy crafting shoes and ploughshares, not standing guard outside the walls in the dark.”

  “What has happened here indeed,” the man called Harke said bitterly. “Our own folly has much to do with it.”

  Will thought Harke was about to say more, but the blacksmith broke off abruptly and seemed to be weighing something in his thoughts. He turned to his companions and in an undertone conversed with them. Will could not hear what was said, but there seemed to be some disagreement between them. Finally Harke turned back to the toymaker.

  “For your own good I shouldn’t allow you to take another step nearer to this city,” he said. “But I know you well enough, Master Nicholas, to guess that it is for someone else’s good that you’re here at all. I don’t know what your errand is, and I don’t care to know, but if you wish to stop in Skald for a while, I won’t hinder you.”

  “Is that wise, Ragnar?” one of his companions said in a whisper that was audible to everyone.

  “Wiser than most of the choices we’ve made lately,” Harke muttered. “Yes, I will take you into the city myself.”

  “But not the wolf,” said the man who had spoken before.

  “The wolf is no threat to Skald,” Pendrake said. “He has been our faithful companion on the road.”

  “It is a creature of darkness,” the man said, and there were murmurs of agreement from the others.

  Ragnar shot a stern look at his companions, then turned to Pendrake.

  “You must understand, such beasts haunt our oldest nightmares. We may have left our homeland ages ago, but we brought our tales with us.”

  Will had been listening to this exchange with anger growing in him, and now he could not contain himself.

  “Shade is my friend,” he said hotly, stepping forward. “He saved our lives in the bog. He fought for the Stewards against the Night King.”

  “Will—” Pendrake began warningly.

  “If you don’t trust Master Pendrake’s word,” Will went on, not heeding the toymaker, “then why are you letting any of us into the city?”

  Harke’s good eye went wide. He studied Will for a moment, then something like a grin creased his weathered face.

  “A good question,” he said at last. “There is no one’s word I trust more than Nicholas Pendrake’s. And you will all enter Skald with me.”

  He turned to his companions with a look that silenced the murmuring.

  “By the black dog you will.”

  If you wish for a tale

  Then bid the teller welcome.

  Light the cheerful lanterns

  And open wide the doors.

  Sit him by the fire,

  Bring honey and sweet ale.

  He cannot sing for you

  From a dry throat.

  — The Kantar

  THE BLACKSMITH LED THEM across the translucent, many-coloured bridge to the gates of the city. Will noticed that he walked with a limp, and sometimes grunted from pain or effort. The gates were shut, but after Harke showed his face by the lantern’s light to some unseen watcher and called out a strange singsong password, a rope ladder dropped down the stonework in front of them.

  “The doors are barricaded every night,” he said. “Not that it does much good. There are things dwelling in Skald now that can slither through wood and stone like it was broken netting.”

  “I’ve never climbed one of these before,” Shade said, eyeing the ladder askance. Harke started at the unexpected voice.

  “I forgot about your werewolf,” he mumbled, then put his fingers to his lips and whistled. After a brief delay a large wicker basket was lowered down beside the ladder on a rope sling. Shade gave this contraption a disdainful glance and then, muttering “werewolf” under his breath, he began awkwardly but determinedly to climb the rope ladder. Harke gaped at this astonishing sight, then he and the others followed Shade up the ladder. The basket was hauled up empty beside them.

  At the top of the wall they were met by several men with pikes and bows, with whom Harke spoke in low tones. He did not introduce Pendrake or the others, but led them on along the battlement until they reached a flight of steps.

  As they descended, a cold wet flurry of sleet began to fall. At the bottom of the stairs Harke hurried the companions into the shelter of a long, low-roofed wooden building beside the wall, which Will guessed was a guardhouse. There were several men inside, gathered round a small fire burning in a metal drum. They sprang up when Harke and the others entered, but after a word from the blacksmith they sat back down again. He led the companions into a second room where another, smaller fire of coals was fitfully burning. There was a table here and several benches and chairs, as well as bare shelves that looked as though they might once have been used for stocking provisions.

  “We have little to offer guests these days,” he said with a rueful shrug. “And what we have is meagre fare. Most of the outlying farms have been deserted. Our lakes have been spoiled with the filth of the Nightbane and there are no fish.”

  When they were all seated, one of the men from the other room brought in tea in metal mugs. Will and the others accepted the hot drink gratefully, and sipped it while the sleet pattered on the windows.

  “Even the weather is unnatural these days,” Harke muttered. He stirred restlessly, then got up and went out. By the time he returned, shaking the water from his hair, his guests had finished their drinks.

  “Seems to be a quiet night out there,” he said. “I’ll take you up the street to the smithy. Though it’s more like an armed camp than a smithy these days. Still, it’s as safe as anywhere in Skald, and besides, Ulla and the children will be glad to see you.”

  “What has happened here, Ragnar?” the toymaker asked.

  “You know about the League of Four,” the blacksmith growled.

  “They had come to Skald not long before my last stay here,” Pendrake said. “I had my misgivings back then, but other business took me away, and I heard nothing more about them.”

  “Well, there is no cursed League any more,” Harke growled, “and the back of our hand to them. When those four so-called mages first came to Skald, they promised to protect the city and bring prosperity. We were so desperate after the last few mordog raids that we believed them, and we welcomed them in.”

  Will glanced at Rowen, who was staring at the blacksmith, her tea forgotten. Harke saw her look and nodded.

  “You’ve heard of them, I see, child.”

  “This is my granddaughter, Rowen,” Pendrake said.

  Harke bowed his head.

  “Honoured to meet you,” he said. “Though I wish for your sake it was anywhere but here.”

  “Do the mordog still prowl this country?” Finn asked.r />
  “They didn’t, after the mages came. The League delivered on its promises at first, I’ll grant them that. Nightbane were not seen in these parts for a long time, and there was peace, and crops grew well, and folk were happy. But the cost was higher than we had reckoned. Much higher.”

  “From what I can already see,” Pendrake said, “I would say the League practised their art poorly, or with wicked purpose.”

  “Both,” Harke muttered. “Maybe they had good intentions, at first. But after a time they thought only of their own power, and how to make it grow. Some said they even began to traffic with ambassadors of the Dark Powers. What is certain is that their conjuring brought shadows, not light, and the safety of the city was forgotten. Finally we went to them, a delegation of the townsfolk, and demanded answers, but they would not see us. Instead they barricaded themselves in the keep with their eldritch arts. Then one night, while the city slept, the werefire first blazed out, and it has never stopped burning. And worse, it has acted like a beacon to all the evil for miles around. Foul things have crept here from the bog and every other festering hole they hide in. We were overrun before we knew what was happening.”

  “Didn’t the mages try to stop the fire?” Rowen asked.

  “Ah, the brave League,” the blacksmith sneered. “They’ve slithered off and left us to our fate. I suppose it’s what we deserve for letting them in to begin with.”

  The blacksmith lapsed into a string of muttered words Will did not catch.

  “What of the keep?” Pendrake asked. “It had the strongest walls in the city. Is it no longer used as a refuge?”

  “The keep is a refuge all right, but not for Skaldings,” Harke said bitterly. “Even in the daylight, that place is best left alone. It was the home of the League, and few have dared set foot in it since. It seems to be the source of the werefire, and something evil dwells there now. A demon, some say.”