The Shadow of Malabron

by Thomas Wharton

  “Clever,” Finn said.

  “The League was good for a few things,” Freya said.

  The companions filed out into a shadowy thicket beyond the hedge. Freya walked with them a short way down a steep path lined with standing stones, to a swiftly running stream bordered by willows. The sun was rising already and a pale rosy light streamed through the trees and lit the city wall, like the flush on the face of someone who has been ill for a long time and is now recovering. Here Freya gave them some final directions for their road west, and then they said their farewells.

  Freya wished them all good fortune on their journey, then she turned to Finn.

  “The Errantry will be welcome here now,” she said with a shy smile.

  “And your people will be welcome in Fable,” Finn said, with a blush that surprised Will. “Our cities need no longer be strangers.”

  When she had gone, Pendrake gazed up into the treetops.

  “Now all we have to do is find…” he began, but a gruff bark from Shade cut him off. Before anyone could speak a word, Moth stepped out of the shadows with Morrigan on his shoulder.

  “You people make far too much noise,” said the archer with a shake of his head.

  Moth listened attentively while they told the tale of all that had happened in Skald. He congratulated Will on his clever escape from the hogmen, which made Will grin with pleasure. Then Moth gave his own report.

  “There has been no sign of Lotan himself,” he said. “But if the shrowde is here he cannot be far away. And I have overheard frightened talk from folk on the roads. Talk of people who were thought dead but have been seen walking.”

  “Fetches,” Will whispered.

  “They may be inhabiting the dead, or simply taking their shape,” Moth said. “This is not a good place for us to linger, even if the darkness in Skald is lifting. I found a cave not far from here, near where this stream flows out into the River Whitewing. We can rest there for a while before setting out again. There was another occupant, but Morrigan and I persuaded him to leave.”

  “Who was it?” Will asked.

  “It wasn’t really a who so much as a what,” Moth said. “It left in a hurry, having so many legs to run with. At any rate, we should assume our pursuers have found our trail again, and we must travel with stealth.”

  Moth led them along the stream. They came out into a more open space where the snowy mountains rose up before them, lit by the morning sun and much closer than Will had imagined they were. The bank grew steeper and rockier as they went along, so that when they reached the cave they had to scramble up a slope of sand and shale to reach it. The cave was not warm, but it was dry and out of the wind that had risen as they walked.

  Will listened as Pendrake, Moth and Finn discussed the road ahead, but said nothing. His thoughts were on the portal Strigon had spoken of. If four powerful mages couldn’t keep it open, what hope was there that he could?

  By most reports the Shining Mountains are pleasant to travel through. They can be crossed without much effort or danger, and at most one should bring a warm cloak, as it can get rather chilly in the high passes.

  — The Spindlefog Misguidebook to the Realms of Story

  AFTER A FEW HOURS’ REST, they set out, Pendrake taking the lead. He walked quickly and said very little. Will had the feeling his thoughts were as much on Rowen as they were on what lay ahead. Ever since he met the old man Will had been surprised at his nimbleness and energy. Now that they were travelling over rocky, rising ground, he was even more astonished at the pace Pendrake kept. Even Dad, who was many years younger than the toymaker, would have been huffing and puffing by now.

  They followed the course of the Whitewing River westward, and the air quickly grew colder. The valley walls grew steeper, sweeping up from vast tree-blanketed slopes to cliffs of bare rock and ridges capped with snow. Each peak, Will discovered, had its own character. One in particular resembled the profile of a face gazing up at the sky. Will remembered the giant in the forest, and wondered if this was another such sleeper. He hoped very much that it wasn’t.

  There was a narrow road of sorts beside the river, but for the most part the companions stayed away from it. With Shade’s keen nose and Morrigan’s eyes, they managed to avoid whatever Nightbane may have been prowling the region near Skald.

  That afternoon they entered a narrower valley where two great slab-shaped peaks, like immense castle keeps, soared into the sky, one on either side of the river. Pendrake called them the Sentinels, and said that long ago there had been dwelling places high upon their flanks, where the Fair Folk kept watch on the pass during the great war against the Shadow Realm. As they passed beneath the towering cliffs, Pendrake spoke about the long-ago war against the Night King. His tale of the ancient battle fought here was so vivid that Will began to wonder if he had seen it with his own eyes.

  Beyond the Sentinels the river widened to a shallow, slender lake. Throughout the afternoon they walked along the lake’s southern shore, which began as a rocky shingle that gave way to low dunes of sand like dull pewter, littered with twisted stumps and limbs of dry driftwood. A wind from the west streamed incessantly through the valley, riffling the surface of the water and forming whitecaps on the waves further out.

  At the western end of the lake they made camp in the shelter of one of the dunes. They lit no fire, even though there was plenty of dry wood lying all around that looked like it would burst into a fine flame with little encouragement. The sun disappeared quickly behind the western ranges. The valley filled with shadows, and only the tops of the two sentinel peaks still glowed with a rosy light. Will was grateful for his fur cloak, which kept out the cutting wind.

  The waning moon was dimmed by a thin veil of cloud, and shed a hazy light over the waters. As they sat together on the beach, listening to the waves lap, they saw tiny lights on the eastern shore, bobbing and flickering in the darkness. Moth watched intently for a moment and then guessed that they were probably Nightbane with torches.

  “Are they following us?” Will asked. “Do they know we’re here?”

  “I doubt it,” Pendrake said. “If they did, it’s unlikely they’d announce themselves like this with lights. My guess is they’re on the way back to their mountain lair from a raid somewhere in the foothills.”

  “They are not afraid to use torches because they roam these lands unchallenged,” said Moth. “For too long they have had to fear nothing and no one.”

  “I could change that for them,” Shade muttered.

  Morrigan flapped off for a closer look, and vanished swiftly into the dark. The others all watched for a while as the lights moved slowly along the lake and then climbed the hills along the northern shore, where they grew less distinct, until finally they winked out completely. Not long after, Morrigan returned, bringing confirmation that the torch-bearers were indeed mordog, although there were other Nightbane with them.

  “Creech, by the sound of it,” said Moth when he’d listened to all of Morrigan’s tale. “That is worrisome. These creatures seldom join forces, unless compelled by something they fear even more than they hate each other.”

  “Should we look for better concealment?” Finn asked.

  “I think we should stay here,” Pendrake said, “and keep watch through the night. The wind has shifted and is in our favour, for the moment, and we can count on Shade’s ears and Morrigan’s eyes.”

  Shade lifted his muzzle to the wind, sniffed, and then sprang to his feet.

  “There is a garm-wolf with them,” he growled, his voice so cold and threatening it made Will shiver. “Or more than one.”

  “That’s what Hodge and Flitch said killed their brother,” Will said.

  “I have met such beasts before,” said Moth. “They are large and very powerful. They fear nothing.”

  “We should return to Skald,” said Finn bitterly. “This was folly. They’ll soon know we’re here, if they don’t already.”

  “It’s too late to turn back,” Pen
drake said. “But the mountains are a hindrance to our enemies, too. If it comes to it, we can find refuge on the heights.”

  They spent the night huddled together on the dune, and Will’s attempt to fall asleep on the cold, hard ground did not go well. He kept thinking about Rowen left behind in Skald. He already missed her lively presence among them. Was she all right? And he wondered if he was getting any closer to Dad and Jess, or even further away? His thoughts went round and round the same track. When he finally slipped into sleep the sound of the wind on the water took shape in his dreams as something rushing towards him, a vast shadow with great grey wings beating like thunder. Several times he started awake, heart pounding. Each time he saw only the forms of his companions around him, and Finn’s black silhouette against the starlight on the water, unmoving as a statue. The knight-in-training’s calm stillness had always given Will some comfort, but now his feeling of dread was too great. The third time he awoke, he lay there restlessly for a while and then got up and sat down beside Finn. He wanted to speak, but he was afraid his voice would give away how frightened he was.

  “Dawn’s not far off,” Finn said. “Sit and keep watch with me, if you like.”

  “Is there any point?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’re coming for us. They’ll never stop coming. I’m … not like you. I’m not brave.”

  Finn laughed softly.

  “You think I’ve never been afraid of anything? You and I, Will, are more alike than you know.”

  “I doubt it. You’ve been trained to stand your ground. To fight. All I want to do is run.”

  “That was me, at your age. After my brother left. He never trained with the Errantry, though he could have been a great knight. He chose to stay and help my mother with the farm after my father died, rather than going to Appleyard. Then a horde of Nightbane raided the farmlands, and many people were killed before the Errantry drove the invaders away. After that my brother grew to hate the Errantry. He said that they only protected Fable and cared nothing for the rest of the Bourne. So he gathered a band of those who thought like him, and set out after the Nightbane, to make them pay for what they’d done. Before he left he gave me his ring, and told me never to trust the Errantry.”

  “And he never came back?”

  “No. That was ten years ago. I was a boy, full of anger and fear. I ran away from home, just like you. I came to Fable with nothing and lived on the streets, stealing for my supper. I’d see knights-errant ride past in their bright armour and I’d curse them under my breath and steal some more, just to prove I could get away with it right under their noses.”

  “I didn’t know,” Will said, greatly surprised. “How did you ever become one of them?”

  “One winter I fell ill, and Master Pendrake found me and took me in. At the time, I had no idea why he’d bothered. I didn’t see anything in me that was worth saving. In fact, I stole from him. A beautiful chess set that he’d made. The pieces were carved like great figures of Story. Heroes, villains. None of it meant anything to me. I took the chess set and ran. I was going to sell it in the market.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Master Pendrake found me again. He had one of the chess pieces with him. A knight. I’d dropped it when I fled. All he said was You’ll get a better price if you have the complete set.”

  Will smiled, and then he thought about the motorbike. He heard his father’s voice in his head: You should’ve taken the helmet. That’s probably what he would say when Will got home. If he got home. Suddenly Will wanted more than anything to hear him say it.

  “A few days later I brought the chess set back to him,” Finn went on. “And then he gave me something else, the book I carry with me wherever I go.”

  “Is that why you joined the Errantry? Because of the book?”

  A rare smile lit Finn’s face.

  “I joined because I thought they would teach me how to be brave.”

  “Did they?”

  “They taught me something far more useful. They taught me how to be afraid, and still keep on.”

  Will’s gazed across the lake to the dim outline of the far shore.

  “How do you do that?” he asked.

  “You’re doing it, Will,” Finn said. “And you’re not alone.”

  Will nodded but said nothing. He found it hard to believe that this serious young man had once been a thief. Despite his coldness, Finn had inspired trust in Will from the beginning, but the story he’d just heard had not changed that. In fact Will realized he now trusted Finn all the more. And for the first time, he felt he could understand him. In a tangle of mixed emotions the thought came that if he never found his way home, perhaps he too might join the Errantry some day, and learn from Finn how to fight, and master his fear.

  From somewhere in the darkness rose low, eerie calls that echoed across the lake. The others were instantly on their feet and alert.

  “Nightbane! There must be several bands,” Finn whispered. “They’re calling to each other from a distance, like a pack of…” He broke off and glanced at Shade. “They must know we’re here.”

  “I do not believe so,” Moth said. “Morrigan says they are still far off, and upwind. No, I think there must be someone or something else in the valley that has set them off in pursuit. Still, if they are on the move, we had better be as well.”

  Swiftly they gathered their gear, and set out as the sky lightened and the sun rose behind them. Their progress along the narrowing Whitewing was difficult, as the shore was tangled with thick bushes. The mountain slopes around them grew steeper and closer.

  As the morning passed Pendrake led them up through a forest of fragrant spruce and pine. The ground was mostly bare of undergrowth, and was criss-crossed with tiers of snaky roots that they could use at times like steps. Beside them the river’s course narrowed, and soon the water was rushing through a deep canyon. When they rested briefly Will peered over the edge. He saw white water churning and seething far below.

  At midday they left the cool, sweet-smelling forest behind and climbed into fierce sunlight. Pendrake urged them on even higher, to a steep slope of broken shale, where they halted at last. Anyone who approached would have to do so over loose, clattering rocks. Pendrake let them stay here only long enough to refresh themselves. Carrying on up the slope, they finally reached the summit, and stood upon a narrow ridge of broken stone.

  There, across a dizzying gulf of space, was the Whitewing Glacier. Its snow-mantled upper reaches gleamed a dazzling white in the sunshine, while the bare ice further down was rent by great crevasses that held a pale blue light.

  The valley came to an end here, in a vast bowl of stone that reminded Will of some mighty amphitheatre fallen into ruin. The sides of the bowl were formed by a curving mountain wall over which the glacier spilled, tumbling down to the valley floor, where the newborn river meandered out in glittering braids from the edge of the ice. Besides the river valley, the only other outlet from the bowl was to the southwest, a narrow ravine between the southern flank of the wall and the three snow-mantled peaks known as the Sisters.

  “That way lies the Pass of the Needle’s Eye,” Pendrake said. “It leads over the spine of the Shining Mountains to the western ranges, and the Great Rampart.”

  As Will’s eyes roamed over the dizzying expanse, they caught a bright glint, midway down the long slope of the glacier. High upon a horn of iron-grey rock that jutted out like an island from the ice rose the white spires and battlements of a fortress. They gleamed wetly as though they had been carved of ice instead of stone.

  “That is Aran Tir,” Moth said, when Will had pointed out what he had seen. “It was used by my people as a refuge against the armies of the Night King, but it was not built by the Shee. I have never seen it with my own eyes. It was abandoned long ago.”

  “They say Aran Tir was shaped by the Stewards,” Pendrake said. “In a time that was already ancient when the Fair Folk built Eleel-upon-the-Sea. On my last
journey through these mountains, many years ago now, I found a stone stair that climbs the cliff wall above the northern edge of the glacier. The steps were partly blocked by fallen debris, but they took me to a spot where I could safely cross the ice to the base of Aran Tir. I say we still make for the pass, but by a more roundabout route that will take us nearer to the glacier. If our enemies close in on us before we reach the pass, then we will have a chance to reach the stair.”

  “Where are these steps?” Finn asked, shading his eyes with a hand. “There’s nothing but sheer rock as far as I can see.”

  “The stairs were carved with concealment in mind,” Pendrake answered. “I only found them because the Kantar speaks of them.” He pointed out a waterfall spilling down the rock face just to the right of the ice. Where the cataract touched the valley floor, he explained, was the place they had to reach.

  “That is the surest way to Aran Tir. It may be we can use the citadel as it was once used by your folk, Moth. As a refuge.”

  “We won’t last long on a rock in the middle of ice,” muttered Finn.

  “Yet it may give us enough time to think of some other means of escape,” Pendrake said. “As things stand, I do not see any other choice.”

  “What if we reach Aran Tir and find Nightbane waiting for us?” Will said.

  “Such creatures would likely stay away from Aran Tir because it was crafted by the power of the Stewards,” Pendrake replied, “and still retains something of their presence. And because of the ice itself. It creaks and shudders like a living thing.”

  “I remember it rumoured among my people that the river of ice is alive,” said Moth. “That it will not suffer Nightbane to tread upon it.”

  “I have seen such things,” Shade said. “Where the Stewards walked, the trees and the stones spoke. When we went to war, the earth itself rose against our enemies.”

  “If you know how to recruit your former allies, Shade, please don’t hesitate,” the loremaster said.