Shadowgod

by Michael Cobley

  The forest rustled around him in slow writhings of its verdant profusion. The air was moist and heavy with odours of growth. Green shadows blurred the distance and added to the strangeness of these restless surroundings. Spurred by tense fears, his imagination provided the luxuriant, unfurling vegetation with eyes and ears and other features. Annoyed at himself, he tried to suppress such transient fancies yet even as he pushed past hanging loops of vine the combination of a dark berry and a few leaves in the gloom off to one side looked just like a face staring out at him…

  Then the face became whole and startlingly familiar as a grey-cowled man stepped out of the foliage and lunged at him with an outstretched dagger. Gilly gasped and threw himself to one side, then backed off behind a few trees while drawing his sword. Through the few branches he could see the hooded man straighten and stare back at him with his own face.

  His attacker smiled, flipped the curved dagger and neatly caught it. "The Lord of Twilight sends his greetings," he said.

  "And us," came another voice from close by.

  Instinctively, Gilly ducked and rolled, hearing something slash through the foliage where he had been standing a moment before. Again, the hasty retreat, desperately trying to get both his assailants in view, even as they came after him.

  And there was another, identical to the first and thus to himself. He had been sceptical when Suviel told him of the sorcerous creatures called rivenshades, but here was the evidence.

  "What a sad, feeble thing you are," one of them said. "Hard to believe that we are copies of you."

  "Mayhap we are better than him, brother," said the other. "Stronger, faster and deadlier, with all the weaknesses refined away. The Grey Lord undoubtedly saw this to be true and sent us after better prey."

  Still Gilly backed away through the forest, trying to follow their voices while searching for a tree with lower branches.

  "Come now, fellows," he said. "It is ridiculous that we hunt each other like this. I mean, we're practically family - we should be sharing a bottle of wine and telling each other tall tales. In fact, I know of an excellent tavern in Sejeend, secluded, with a magnificent fire and a goodly choice of ales…"

  "Your prattling wearies me," said one of the rivenshades. "It will be an pleasure to cut out your tongue."

  But Gilly made no reply. With careful quiet motions, he had climbed a particular tree and was crawling out onto a leafy branch as one of the cowled rivenshades crept towards it, stealthy and oblivious. He waited until the last moment them slamming him into the ground and savagely skewering him through the back twice.

  But after the second blow, the rivenshade twisted under him as if unhurt, throwing him off to roll onto his back. There was not a spot or streak of blood on the rivenshade's clothing as he sprang to a crouch, dagger poised for the lunge, face bright with glee. Gilly struggled to bring his sword round but as the hooded man drew back for a slashing blow something large and dark came crashing out of the undergrowth up to the right. In a rushing blur it bore down on the rivenshade, snatched him off his feet and carried on into the forest. There was a shriek of agony cut short, and Gilly felt a little dizzy as he scrambled to his feet, alert to his surroundings.

  Warily he followed the trail of broken vegetation left by the mystery benefactor. He had noticed few details, a black and green pebbled hide, a muscular torso and what might have been large, folded wings, none of which sparked any recollection. Then from up ahead came a gasp, a thud and a grunt… and a stream of memories poured into his mind. The dizziness struck again but passed as swiftly, leaving him with knowledge and the memory of the last time had seen such a muscular, winged creature. As Gilly stepped into the small clearing the Daemonkind was sitting on the leafy ground, leaning against a bare rock. One of the rivenshades was impaled by the neck to a nearby tree with his dagger, while the other lay full length and face up beside the Daemonkind, dagger jutting from his chest. The creature raised its great reptilian head and regarded Gilly with amber eyes.

  "The man Cordale," it said. "I saw your memories seep out of these two when I slew them with their own blades. I trust you are now more yourself."

  "Enough to recognise your race, ser," Gilly said as boldly as he could. "How is it that you recognise me?"

  "We were travelling companions once, for a short period," said the Daemonkind. "I am Orgraaleshenoth, prince of the Israganthir."

  Gilly tightened his grip on his sword, futile though he knew it would be against one such as this.

  "Do you intend to send me flying across the lands again?" he said. "If so, there are a few towns in west Cabringa that I have never seen - "

  "Hear me, Cordale - my allegiance is not as it was, and I have suffered wounds at the hands of my people accordingly. And know this - your friend Keren Asherol is here in this realm and she has the Staff of the Void in her possession…" The Daemonkind paused and got slowly to his feet, uttering a groan as he did so. "We must seek out the mage Bardow and inform him of this. He is with an army from Besh-Darok which is following your trail…"

  "But I'm supposed to be watching over the girl Alael," Gilly said.

  "The Earthmother vessel?" Orgraaleshenoth shook his head. "Neither you nor I have the power to contain her - that is a task for others."

  "This is very true," he said. "So - shall we retrace my steps to meet the Besh-Darok army or wait here for them?"

  "Waiting here would be to invite peril - once the Earthmother's influence has waned the forest will revert to its master's will."

  Gilly sheathed his blade and regarded the two dead rivenshades. "Yes - I don't think I want to be around to see what he does with these."

  * * *

  The hills were made of dust and the dust was fine, grey and cold. It rose in swirls and veils on the slightest breeze and puffed up from their horses' hooves to cake their clothing and filter into weapon scabbards and mouths. Suviel made Byrnak and Atroc wind spare pieces of garments around their mounts' jaws and nostrils, since they were choking on the dust, and also wipe it away from their animals' eyes as often as possible.

  Their passage through the hills lasted less than two hours but it felt far longer. Shaking and beating their cloaks and robes once they reached the other side dislodged some but not all of the dust. And Suviel insisted that they pressed on so garments were replaced and on they rode.

  The ash-white plain was warm and dry and seemed to be composed of small bone fragments. Suviel had examined a handful of it and, frowning, wondered if this was real bone or just some kind of pulverised stone. When asked, Byrnak only shrugged and said:

  "This is his domain - it has no meaning for me."

  Less than an hour later they drew close to the lower slopes of Hewn Mountain. It was a little warmer and there was a faint sound in the air, like a high continuous note, like a voice yet not quite like a voice. As they followed Byrnak around the foot of the mountain towards the entrance, past massive fallen shards of stone, the sound grew and became strangely pleasing to the ear.

  At last the entrance to Hewn Mountain gaped jaggedly before them, the end point of a darkened road which ran arrow-straight out across the plain. Suviel brought them to a halt before it and turned to Byrnak.

  "I can feel the power of the Wellsource beating against my mind," she said. "Most of my other-senses are closed to me and I cannot tell if any guardian waits within. Can you?"

  Byrnak gave her a look of hollow dread. "I can feel nothing. Nothing."

  Dismayed but not showing it, she turned to Atroc.

  "What might a seer see?"

  The old Mogaun set his lips in a line, frowned and closed his eyes. Then he cocked his head as if listening, opened his eyes and smiled.

  "We are being watched," he said. "There are two of them."

  Suviel nodded grimly and turned back to Byrnak.

  "We'll continue on foot," she said. "Lead the way."

  Resignedly, he did so, with Atroc at his side and Suviel following with the packhorse. The passageway had
a floor of rough black marble and sloped down into the heart of the mountain. Its grey walls reared up not to a ceiling but to tall, fanglike towers and crags, open to the skies. The high sound was louder, the air warm and sharp with the taste of stone.

  Then, when they were halfway down the corridor a stocky figure clad in dark green garments stepped out from concealment and crossed his arms before him. It was Coireg Mazaret. Suviel felt a rush of foreboding as she recalled how he had been possessed.

  "Greetings, Crevalcor," Byrnak said. "Such an unexpected surprise to meet you in this place…"

  Coireg, smiling sardonically, gave a little bow and further down another figure emerged, tall, hairless and garbed in long, grey robes.

  "Ah, and the devoted Obax, too" Byrnak went on. "What, I wonder, brings you both…?"

  The man Byrnak addressed as Crevalcor unfolded his arms. Silent emerald flame wreathed his hands. Byrnak stepped aside to cower against the wall, while Atroc moved to one side.

  "A pleasing end to your charade, Byrnak," Crevalcar said, shifting his gaze to Suviel as he started walking towards her. "And more pleasing by far to meet an enemy of our master who also happens to be an adept, or what passes for one amongst these enfeebled adversaries."

  "And you are?" she said with as much disdain as she could muster while concentrating on a cluster of thought-cantos.

  He laughed out loud. "I am Crevalcor of the First-Woken, and the bringer of your death."

  Suviel unveiled her shielding thought-cantos even as his hands came up, each finger spilling forth a dazzling tendril of power. But even with the Crystal Eye's enhancement of her abilities she knew that she could only resist this assault of raw Wellsource fire for a short time. Ten incandescent tendrils probed and flared and burrowed into the barriers she had erected, while the grinning Crevalcor watched her with blazing eyes from a few feet away.

  There was only one option left to her. She reached into one of the packhorse's bundles and dragged out the melded sword, still in its scabbard. Crevalcar laughed at the sight but when she cast aside the scabbard, revealing the glowing, silver-green blade, the smile froze on his lips and he turned as if to run. But Suviel was faster, lunging forward to strike him in the side…

  Bellowing in agony and fear, he fell back against the passage wall, wrenching the sword's hilt from her grasp. Suviel could see the vague outlines of something spectral shifting around him as he sank to his knees. But then fury twisted his face and a gout of blazing green fire burst from his mouth and flew at her. The remains of her thought-canto barrier absorbed most of the attack but some still reached her.

  A web of pain lashed through her body and she cried out as she fell to the marble floor. She could not feel her right leg and her right arm was weak and trembling. Despite her dizziness she could hear someone sobbing and muttering through tears - "…so sorry, Ikarno, I'm sorry… forgive me, please… so sorry, so sorry…"

  The spirit of Crevalcor of the First-Woken was gone and Coireg Mazaret had finally returned to his own body.

  Suddenly, Suviel was aware of footsteps approaching.

  Struggling upright on her good arm she looked up to see the Acolyte Obax coming to a halt nearby. Pale eyes in a gaunt face surveyed them both.

  "To overcome one of the First-Woken, and expel his spirit from a host…" The Acolyte gave a low, throaty laugh. "That requires an unshakeable strength of purpose, not to mention cunning and an unusual weapon." A booted toe nudged the hilt of the melded sword, pushing it aside, as while his long-fingered hands took on an emerald aura. "Your only mistake was in not bringing stronger servants - "

  "Torturer!" shrieked a voice quivering with fury.

  It was Coireg Mazaret, his wide, unblinking eyes fixed on the Acolyte, his entire form drenched in Wellsource radiance, its glaucous potency shining from every pore in his enraged face. At first, Suviel thought he was slowly getting to his feet then she realised that he was actually rising into the air.

  "You were the one!" Coireg went on. "You and those Shadowkings, pouring pain into my thoughts then… then putting your servants in my head - my head!"

  "Hold your tongue, cur - you are in the presence of a Lord of the Nightbrothers…"

  Coireg's only response was an incoherent cry as he flew across the passageway. Obax unleashed a bolt of emerald power but it was absorbed by Coireg's bright aura. Then his hands were about Obax's neck and the pair swirled and wrestled and clawed at one another for a few moments before Coireg rose higher, dragging the Acolyte up off his feet.

  Suviel watched the two struggling forms diminish into the heights and sweep away out of sight, and she wondered at a fate that could remove her enemies yet leave her crippled. Powerless, she could not do what had to be done…

  "Atroc," she said. "Atroc…"

  "My lady," he said, crouching beside her.

  "Atroc, is there anyone else?"

  A pause. "No - I can feel no-one else."

  "Good," she said, relieved. "First, help me over to the wall so that I can lean against something."

  Once this was accomplished, Suviel could sit straighter and nurse her weakened arm in her left.

  "I have a task for you," she told Atroc.

  The old Mogaun gave her a narrow look. "Is there any hazard in this task?"

  "It may cost you your life," she said.

  "Hmm, an interesting offer - what would my part of the bargain entail?"

  "On the packhorse is a bag containing two small caskets," Suviel said. "Inside them are the Crystal Eye and the Motherseed, both of which have to be carried into the Wellsource itself. The bearer will probably not survive exposure to such raw power."

  "Then let me be the bearer," said Byrnak.

  "Why?" she said. "Why would you want to do this?"

  The big man's face was lined with fear and exhaustion yet a kind of sombre resolve lay in his gaze.

  "If anyone's death should be the price for defeating the Lord of this place, that death should be mine."

  Suviel sighed, silently cursing her helpless frame, then glanced at Atroc who nodded.

  "He speaks truthfully, lady."

  "Very well - take the talismans from their caskets and carry them in one of the saddlebags. Take the sword with you… and Atroc will accompany you…"

  As the old Mogaun shrugged and Byrnak dug through the packhorse's bundles, she whispered a brief prayer to fate and the Void, seeking comfort if not intervention.

  * * *

  The sword felt right in his hand as he strode down the open passage with the heavy saddlebag slung over his shoulder. At his side Atroc, the Mogaun seer, had to scurry along to keep up with him while asking a series of irritating questions.

  Before them the chamber at the heart of Hewn Mountain came into view and he slowed, hesitancy creeping through his thoughts once more. He could see pale reflections of that rich viridian glow in polished marble surfaces and the hesitancy turned into fear. What if he was seized and possessed again?

  "Have you given your blade a name, ser Byrnak?" asked the old seer.

  He looked round, his thoughts thrown into disarray.

  "Why, no…"

  "All swords should have a name," Atroc said with a grin. "Especially this one, heh?"

  Byrnak looked down at the weapon, considering the heavy simplicity of its hilt and the shimmering silver-green surface of its yard-long blade.

  This is what freed me from illusions and domination, he thought. This brought me the reality of pain and suffering and made me see what I have wrought…

  "I will call it 'Truth'," he said. "For it cuts through lies."

  He set off again, fears gone. A dozen or more paces on he entered the chamber of the Wellsource. Huge vertical shards of rock encircled it, their looming darkness adding to the shadows, while the light of the Wellsource shone from the roughly carved fane that sat at the centre. Strange black pillars and slabs formed a square around it and as Byrnak approached one of the gaps, a voice rang out from beyond it.

&
nbsp; "Ah, at last, brother! Not a moment too soon!"

  Emerald radiance bathed all within the pillared square, the marble floor, the rough cone of the fane, and the Shadowking Kodel who stood next to a seated statue seemingly made from silver. As Byrnak went over he heard an intake of breath from Atroc, who was watching from the pillars.

  "Tauric!"

  Kodel gave a hawkish smile, and Byrnak noticed that the statue lacked an arm.

  "My original intention was to merge my friend here and Tauric together and use him to explore the Void. But now that Besh-Darok and its allies have worked so hard to bring together the three Talismans - the three Gifts - there's no need."

  " I have two of them here." Byrnak said. "Where is the third?"

  "Oh, it should arrive before long," Kodel said casually. "Now, if you carry those baubles up into the Wellsource, not only will you advance our cause, you may also recover some of your powers…"

  Byrnak stared at him, hand still tightly gripping the hilt of the sword he had named Truth.

  "Then I had best be about it," he said, moving to the fane of the Wellsource and mounting its shallow steps, then pausing on the second. "Ah, brother, would you look after my blade?"

  "Gladly."

  Byrnak made to hand Truth to Kodel hilt first but as the Shadowking came within range he calmly, swiftly, drew back and ran him through with it. Kodel let out a shattering cry of agony and as he staggered backwards, Byrnak pulled the sword out of him and saw that there was not a trace of blood on the blade. But Kodel was now on his back, writhing, convulsing as a ghostly, blood red wraith struggled and fought to tear itself free of him. Byrnak turned back to the flowing, swirling brightness of the Wellsource, took the Crystal Eye and the Motherseed from the bag which he laid on the top step beside the sword Truth. Then he stepped into the emerald roar -

  His mind, his ruined mind, struggled to understand: a voice, a river, a fist, a fanged jaw, a hammer, a sea of desire, a storm of blood, an army of mountains, all howling, drowning, crushing, grinding and beating him on anvil of fire -