The Shadow King

by Alec Hutson

  “Did he ever come to understand it better?”

  Alyanna shrugged. “Perhaps. When he returned he murdered several members of his order in a gruesome fashion, and then killed himself by leaping into a pit of hungry pigs.”

  The sorceress chuckled when she noticed his expression. “Do not worry overmuch, Keilan. I do not expect we will be here long enough that our sanity becomes endangered.”

  He lapsed into silence for a while, concentrating on the faint scrabbling inside his skull. Could he order these strange feelings into some kind of coherence? Or was whatever was trickling from the god-creature far too different to be parsed by a mortal mind?

  “You should know,” Alyanna said suddenly, pulling him back from his thoughts. “We are getting closer to the Burrow. Less than a week more of traveling, if my memory is correct. Which it is.”

  Alyanna reached across the chavenix and found Keilan’s bag among where they’d piled their supplies. She pulled it closer, but she did not undo its drawstring, instead watching him carefully. “You know what I’m going to ask,” she said.

  He did. “You want the dagger.”

  She nodded slightly. “The Chosen will be there. I have felt their power – it is raw and vicious and unconstrained. None of you could stand before them for more than a few moments. If this weapon does what Niara hoped, and can sever whatever connection links their consciousness with the remnants of their physical forms, I should be the one to wield it. Only I can get close enough to strike.”

  Keilan had been expecting this argument for days, but still it unsettled him. Alyanna seemed to desire the end of the demons as much as anyone, that was true. Could she be trusted, though? He swallowed, searching her face for answers. She looked totally without guile, her eyes wide and innocent. He wanted to sigh at the sight. Whatever else she was, Alyanna was no innocent.

  But what choice did they have? She was right. They were all helpless as babes when compared to the sorceress.

  At least she’d asked.

  “You should be the one to use Niara’s dagger,” he told Alyanna, and a smile spread across her face, as if his agreement was wholly unexpected and appreciated.

  “Excellent, Keilan. That is the wise choice. Now I don’t have to take it without your permission, and we can remain on good terms.”

  “So it wouldn’t have mattered what I said?”

  “Of course not,” Alyanna said, opening his bag and drawing out the carved rosewood box. “Don’t be naïve.” She slid back the cover and gently lifted the dagger from where it had been nestled upon velvet. Bright sunlight passed through the blade, illuminating the strands of black threading the dark material. Removed from its case, Keilan felt the weapon’s strange emanations, and for a moment he forgot the scratching in his mind that Alyanna had attributed to the sleeping Ancient.

  “Your grandmother was always a great artificer,” Alyanna murmured, turning the blade over to examine the lines of tiny Shan characters spiraling around its hilt.

  “Do you know how to make it work?”

  Alyanna brandished the dagger; it looked almost like a short sword in her small hand. “I imagine stabbing them is the first step.”

  “I could do that.”

  She lifted a questioning eyebrow. “Could you? You’d need to get close enough first.”

  A commotion near the middle of their small column made them both turn their heads. Some of the soldiers had stopped their march and were clustered near the edge of the forest they had been skirting. The rest of their band had noticed something was happening and were drifting closer to see what it was. With a last glance at Alyanna, Keilan left the side of the chavenix and went to join them, pushing between the broad shoulders of the Dymorian legionaries to see what had caught their attention.

  Three figures stood knee deep in the snow, having just emerged from the trees. The two in front were familiar to Keilan – one was Chelin, the young ranger who had first led them to the cave with the remnants of the Dymorian army, and the other was one of his fellows, also garbed in forester green and brown. Both seemed to be in a state of shock, their faces pale. Chelin looked like he had been struck, or run into a tree, as a large purple bruise had flowered on one side of his face.

  The last figure was a young woman, and she was standing slightly behind them, as if she wanted a buffer between herself and the milling soldiers. Keilan couldn’t blame her – angry mutterings were rising as more and more of the Dymorians saw Chelin’s vivid bruise. She didn’t look very threatening to Keilan, and she appeared calm as she surveyed the crowd of soldiers. She was Shan, he suddenly realized with a jolt of surprise, although she was draped in layers of furs like he’d seen the dead Skein wearing back on the battlefield.

  Chelin seemed dazed by the attention of all his comrades. After a moment of watching the soldiers with wide eyes he blinked uneasily and stepped forward.

  “We found . . . this here is—”

  “What’s a spider-eater doing out here?” demanded one of the closest soldiers, his voice hard. “She struck you, Chelin?”

  “Well, I—”

  “A Shan in the Frostlands?” cried another. “Must be allies with the northmen. She’s a spy come looking for us!”

  “Can’t trust a spider-eater,” snarled another. “My greatda always said they was unnatural.”

  “This is—” Chelin tried to interject, but he was drowned out by the soldiers’ rising voices.

  “Warlocks . . .”

  “Strange . . .”

  “Thieves . . .”

  Keilan thought the Shan woman looked remarkably composed given that the soldiers were edging closer to her. Did she even speak Menekarian?

  “Nel soon, Lady Cho!”

  Everyone fell silent and turned to look at Vhelan, who had pushed his way to the front of the mob. He inclined his head towards the Shan girl and knuckled his brow respectfully. “You are well met in these cursed lands.”

  “Magister,” the woman said, and the soldiers drew back a pace, as if they had suddenly been confronted by a talking animal.

  “You know her?” asked d’Venish, who had also just found his way through the soldiers. Keilan could see the suspicion in the Dymorian commander’s face.

  “I do,” Vhelan said. “This is the daughter of a Shan lord. Very recently she was a visitor in Herath, and even arrived in Saltstone.” To Keilan’s surprise, Vhelan actually winked at her, as if this were a joke they were sharing.

  “What is she doing out here in the middle of the Frostlands?” The noble turned his gaze to Chelin, who seemed to wilt under his commander’s attention. “Ranger, what happened?”

  Chelin’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “We . . . uh . . . we were scouting these woods and we found her. Thought she was a Skein, a scout or maybe a camp woman out foraging. You said we should be on the lookout for any of the northerners, commander, so we was going to bring her to you . . .” The ranger pulled off his fur cap and crumpled it in his hands, looking sheepish. “She came at us. Gave me this” —he touched the purple smear covering his cheek— “an’ after she knocked us down she started asking questions. Said she wanted to come meet the rest o’ us. Said she was looking for Dymorians.”

  Commander d’Venish stared at Chelin incredulously. “She wanted to find us so you simply brought her here? After she ‘knocked you down?’ Garazon’s black balls, ranger, are you implying that this girl defeated you?”

  Keilan didn’t miss the fear that flickered across Chelin’s face. “Pardon, Commander, but she ain’t normal.”

  Growling in frustration, d’Vanish turned to the silent Shan woman, who had watched this exchange with a hint of amusement in her face. “You! You dared assault a Dymorian soldier?”

  Vhelan stepped forward, poised to say something, but the furious noble waved him quiet.

  The girl the magister had called Lad
y Cho showed no sign of being intimidated by the red-faced commander. “He and his brother tried to” —her delicate face scrunched up, as if she was struggling to remember the proper word— “ambush me. They were clumsy. And lucky that I realized they were not Skein, or they would be dead.”

  “So you hate the northerners as well?” d’Venish said scornfully, as if he didn’t believe that could be true.

  Cho Lin nodded slightly. “You are all northerners to me. But the ones here in the cold lands are my enemies, or at least some of them are.” Her dark eyes traveled over the crowd of soldiers; they had fallen silent during this exchange. “Take me to your queen,” she said loudly, addressing everyone.

  She delivered these words with the casual command of someone who was used to being obeyed. D’Venish’s jaw hardened, but he bit back whatever harsh reply he wanted to make.

  “We are going to the queen at this very moment,” Vhelan said quickly before the Dymorian commander found his voice. “She’s in the hands of the Skein.”

  The Shan pursed her lips in disappointment. “Very well. Then bring me to the rest of your army.”

  The magister spread his arms wide. “This is what’s left, I’m afraid.”

  For the first time, something broke through the Shan’s look of cool detachment. Surprise and disappointment were clear in her face before she quickly brought her emotions under control. She turned to Vhelan, dismissing d’Venish as if he were a common soldier.

  “Let us find somewhere and talk, Magister. There is much to discuss.”

  Lord d’Venish decreed that they would stop for the rest of the day, despite the sun barely having started its descent, and this mollified the soldiers somewhat. They were still grumbling, though, as they worked to set up camp, casting uncertain glances at the Shan as she followed Vhelan over to where a pair of Dymorians were heaping kindling. The pine branches they’d gathered proved stubbornly resistant to catching the sparks created by the soldiers’ flint and steel, and it took a sorcerous nudge from the magister Seril for a flame to finally be coaxed to life. The Shan – who had introduced herself as Cho Lin – appeared unmoved by this display of sorcery as she settled beside the fire. Vhelan stretched out next to his fellow magister, across the flames from the Shan. Keilan found his own spot, squeezed in between Nel and Alyanna, who had finally come down from the chavenix. Lord d’Venish and two other senior Dymorians also joined them, one a ranger and the other a scarred older soldier. They all watched the Shan warily, as if expecting her to transform into a monster before their eyes.

  Cho Lin seemed untroubled by their gazes. She sat in the same manner as the Shan who had accompanied their caravan along the Way, with her legs crossed and her back sword-straight. She watched silently as the soldiers tasked with preparing their camp heated a metal flask over the flames, then poured its contents into a cup and handed it to her. Keilan was struck by how she held the water, just like Cho Yuan had held his tea, with both hands cupping the clay cup like it was a priceless chalice. She took small, careful sips as she studied the others around the fire. She’d taken off her fur hat and unpinned her hair, and it fell like a glistening black waterfall around her shoulders. Her face was delicate and heart-shaped, with smooth pale skin and large dark eyes. Cho Lin looked only a few years his senior, Keilan thought, but she seemed much older. She was slender, but there was an obvious strength to her, and a pair of carved white sword hilts emerged from beneath her layers of clothing. Still, how had she survived by herself out here in the Frostlands? Or overpowered two Dymorian rangers without the slightest scratch to herself?

  “The last time I met you,” Vhelan began when they were all seated around the fire, “you said you had been sent by the great and powerful of Shan on a mission of some importance.”

  “You’ve seen her before?” Nel interrupted before Cho Lin could reply, her eyes flicking from the magister to the Shan girl.

  “Twice, actually,” Vhelan replied, and Cho Lin arched an eyebrow at this.

  “I only remember the one time, Magister,” the Shan said quietly, blowing on her hot water.

  “Ah. I hope you take no offense, but the queen used her sorcery to watch you and Jan after our encounter on the road.”

  Cho Lin’s face was unreadable, but she did set down her cup. “Then you saw what happened?”

  “We did,” Vhelan said, looking pained. “Up until the demons attacked Jan beneath the Min-Ceruthan fortress. That severed the connection Queen Cein had made. To be honest, I feared you were both dead.”

  Cho Lin spent a long moment studying the steam curling from her cup. When she spoke again, her voice held a rawness that Keilan hadn’t heard from her before. “I nearly died. Many days I was their prisoner, and then I escaped into the dead city. I killed a demon the Betrayers had brought to this world, and also a good number of Skein before coming south.”

  “And the sorcerer, Jan?” This was spoken by Alyanna, who had been quiet as she watched the Shan. “What happened to him?”

  Cho Lin frowned. “I was told the Skein took him south when they went to meet your army. That is all I know.”

  “Where were you going? Back to Shan?”

  The Shan shook her head at Nel’s question. “I knew the queen of Dymoria had come into the Frostlands. I have heard from many lips that she is a powerful sorceress.” Cho Lin reached into the pack beside her and pulled out a length of dirty cloth tied up into a bundle. She undid the knot, revealing what was inside. It looked to Keilan like the shattered remnants of a sword. The blade had been broken into many shards of varying length, and there was a hilt carved from black bone. He felt a trickle of familiarity staring down at the broken weapon – had he seen it before?

  Cho Lin’s face was creased with sadness. “This was the Sword of Cho. It is a legendary weapon. The demons you saw beneath the Bhalavan – the Betrayers, we call them – were banished a thousand years ago by this blade.” Reverently, she picked up the black-bone hilt, which gleamed like obsidian in the fading light of day. “Another demon broke the sword. I was taking these fragments to the queen so that she could try to reforge them. Without this weapon, I fear there is no hope of stopping the Betrayers.”

  “Give me a piece of the blade,” said Alyanna, holding out her hand.

  Cho Lin glanced at Vhelan questioningly.

  “She is a sorceress, like our queen,” the magister said.

  “Greater than your queen,” Alyanna added with a sniff, beckoning for the Shan to pass her the sword. “Cein d’Kara is a child.”

  Cho Lin hesitated for the briefest of moments, then she gently lifted one of the metal shards and passed it to Alyanna. As her fingers brushed the rippling steel, something flickered across the sorceress’s face, and then her brow drew down. Keilan felt a trickle of sorcery flow from her and into the piece of the sword.

  “This was a great artifact,” she said slowly, running her palm down the length of the shard. “There was a soul here, bound within the blade. One with Talent. But it’s gone now.” She handed back the fragment to Cho Lin. “What remains is a fading echo. The barest trace of the sorcery that once infused the blade. It can never be remade.”

  The Shan closed her eyes and bowed her head slightly. It looked to Keilan like she had just received terrible news that she’d been dreading, but also expecting.

  “Then we are lost.”

  “No,” Keilan interjected, and he felt everyone’s gazes turn to him. His face prickled under their attention, but he swallowed and continued on. “We have our own weapon.”

  Cho Lin raised her head again, and Keilan saw a flicker of interest in her dark eyes.

  “A dagger. Made by a great sorceress under the directions of a warlock of Shan, with blood and hair from the demons mixed into the metal.”

  Cho Lin shifted, leaning closer. There was interest in her face now. “Do you have it? Show it to me.”

  Keilan gl
anced at Alyanna. The sorceress gave him a look that he thought meant she was displeased, but then she reached into the folds of her robes and drew out the black-metal dagger.

  “If that is true, you should give it to me,” Cho Lin said, and Alyanna chuckled before slipping the blade away again.

  “I come from a family of demon hunters,” the Shan explained. “I have trained my whole life to destroy the Betrayers.”

  “You were at Red Fang,” Vhelan remarked slowly, as if just remembering something he had been told.

  Cho Lin nodded. “I can touch the Nothing, and it makes me the equal of any warrior alive.”

  “The Chosen are not alive,” Alyanna said tartly. “They do not care how strong you are or how fast you move. Can the Nothing protect you from their sorcery?”

  The Shan woman met Alyanna’s defiant stare calmly. “It is in my blood. My ancestor was the one who first bound them.”

  The corner of Alyanna’s mouth rose. “And yet here we find you, wandering around in the woods with the magic sword of your family in many small pieces.”

  Vhelan cleared his throat loudly, looking slightly embarrassed at the turn the conversation had suddenly taken. “Well, what she means to say is that we are lucky to have met. We all have the same goals here – to destroy the demons and rescue the queen.”

  Cho Lin bowed her head slightly towards the magister. “You are right. The Four Winds pushed us together, and now we must stop the Betrayers from bringing down another Raveling.”

  “What was the Raveling?” Vhelan asked, leaning forward with interest.

  “The force that destroyed the old lands of Shan. Some kind of . . . beast, I’ve come to believe. And the Betrayers are here in the north, trying to wake another like it.”

  “And how do you know this?”