The Shadow King

by Alec Hutson

  “Keep your wards up, Keilan,” Alyanna told him as they skirted the petrified tree and started down a different street than the one where the creature had vanished.

  They passed more of the bulbous structures, with nothing except their size to differentiate them, and before long Keilan felt like they were revisiting the same ground. The clotting mist made it almost impossible to know whether they were walking in circles or slowly traversing this sprawling city; Alyanna was keeping up a veneer of confidence, but Keilan caught her hesitating more and more often as she chose one path over another.

  “We should have already reached the far wall,” Cho Lin finally said, her gaze lingering on an open doorway that was squared rather than rounded. Keilan knew she was thinking they’d already seen the same building – he suspected the same.

  “This place does not follow the rules we know,” Alyanna said, and Keilan heard the frustration in her voice. Whether it was with what Cho Lin had said or the nature of the stone city he wasn’t sure. “Time and distance are fluid here, ebbing and flowing.”

  Alyanna seemed like she was about to say more, but a shiver of movement from the mist-choked mouth of a nearby alley made her step back in alarm, her wards flaring. Keilan scrabbled to strengthen his own weave as a trio of shapes emerged. They moved hesitatingly out into the broader street, then froze when they noticed they were not alone.

  The creatures were tall and thin and walked on two legs like men, their long arms hanging down nearly to their knees. They were dressed in elaborate finery, lush robes and long dresses trimmed with fur, and gold glittered around their arms and necks. Each also wore thin silver diadems, with large, colorful jewels resting on their brows. The creatures did not move, watching them silently, but Keilan felt a surge of sorcery as they lashed together their own protective wards. The strength of their weave reminded him of Alyanna or Cein. These were powerful sorcerers; the equal of Talents.

  Keilan found he couldn’t breathe, staring at these creatures. He knew what they were; he’d seen them before.

  Wraiths.

  They looked different than the beasts that had ambushed the caravan along the Way – their hair was not matted and wild, but rather intricately bound into braids threaded with beads, and the long curving claws he remembered had been filed down to blunted points. There was the matter of their eyes, as well, and the intelligence Keilan saw glittering in their black depths.

  “Gaitunpan,” he heard Cho Lin whisper beside him. It sounded like she recognized these creatures, too.

  Slowly, the wraith in front of the others raised his hands, showing them his open palms. He wore an elaborate headdress, plumes of plum-colored silk falling from the top of a pointed hat to veil his face. Then, cautiously, he began to retreat back into the alley from which they’d come, keeping his hands up. The other wraiths followed him, until they were all again swallowed by the mists.

  For a few long moments after the creatures had vanished, no one said anything, and Alyanna kept her wards raised, as if she expected a trick.

  “Those were wraiths,” Keilan said finally, letting the strands of sorcery he held go slack.

  “Not the wraiths you know,” Alyanna replied. “From a different age.”

  “The past?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Why were those beasts dressed in clothes?” Cho Lin asked, and Keilan saw that she had drawn her swords.

  “They were not always beasts,” Alyanna said. “They ruled these lands for thousands of years before the first men came here.”

  “But how can they still be alive?”

  Alyanna shrugged at Cho Lin’s question, then resumed going the way they had been traveling before encountering the wraiths. Tendrils of glowing mist swirled around her, clutching at her legs. “They evidently became lost,” she said over her shoulder. “Pray that the same does not happen to us.”

  They progressed through the dead city for what felt like an eternity. His legs ached and he wanted to rest, but Keilan knew that sand was trickling through the hourglass, and the longer they wandered the more likely it was that the Chosen would find a way to wake the slumbering Ancient. Alyanna did let them stop for brief snatches, enough time to choke down strips of salted meat and swallow some water, but he never felt refreshed when she commanded they continue their march.

  The second time she called for a halt was when they reached a broad plaza speckled with small round stone eggs, and while Alyanna and Cho Lin seated themselves on these strange ornamentations, Keilan meandered towards one of the larger avenues that emptied into this space. He didn’t expect to be able to see anything, but suddenly the thick mist swirled and eddied, as if disturbed by a strong wind he could not feel. A strange scene was revealed: three small fox-men encircled a creature that resembled the centipede they’d seen earlier curled around the tree. This one was much larger, though, and the upper half of its body was vaguely man-like, with a half-dozen limbs emerging from its long torso. Perched on its sloping shoulders was a gray, hairless head with a single slitted eye and a circular, leech-like mouth ringed by fangs. The fox-creatures chittered and danced around the creature, prodding at it with silver tridents, and the centipede-man roared angrily and swiped at his tormentors, but they were too quick to catch. For a moment Keilan was frozen, staring in shock, and then the mists rushed in again.

  “Alyanna,” he hissed, beckoning for the sorceress to come over. With a look of concern, she did just that, coming to stand beside him and peering where he indicated.

  “What is it?”

  “We are not alone,” he replied, but then the mists shifted again and the street stretching before them was empty.

  “I saw something,” he said quickly, turning to Alyanna. “And there was a sound. A roar like an animal. You must have heard it from just over there.”

  The sorceress watched him solemnly for a long moment, then slowly shook her head. “I heard nothing.”

  “But it was so loud! There was a monster and three little fox-men—”

  She held up her hand to stop him from explaining further. “I believe you saw something, Keilan, do not doubt that. Echoes of other times. Ghosts and fragments. They are only distractions right now for us, though.”

  Keilan swallowed, watching where the strange vision had been revealed, but it did not return. Finally, reluctantly, he turned away, and let her guide him back to where Cho Lin waited with a raised eyebrow and a questioning look.

  “Wait,” Alyanna said sometime later, motioning for them to stop. Keilan glanced at Cho Lin, and from her expression the Shan had also heard the edge of concern – maybe even fear – in the sorceress’s voice.

  They had found themselves on the widest and grandest of any avenue they’d yet traversed. The rounded buildings here were also the largest they’d seen, packed so tightly together that it would have been difficult to squeeze between them. And that was why Alyanna’s command sent a shiver of fear through him – there was really nowhere to run if danger emerged from the mists.

  “What?” Keilan asked, but instead of answering Alyanna grabbed him roughly by his furs and dragged him towards the open doorway of one of the buildings.

  “Quiet,” she hissed, practically throwing him within the structure. The great space was as empty as the rest, though the spiraling ramp leading to the higher floors had been shattered, reduced to chunks of stone. “Hide,” she continued, pressing herself against the wall that abutted the street. Keilan and Cho Lin did the same. He knew Alyanna was reinforcing her wards, but he could not sense her doing it; she must have been taking great pains to conceal her sorcery. He followed her lead and did not grasp his own power, as he could not hide it like she could. Clearly she was afraid that something would notice she was here.

  They stayed that way, breathing quietly, long enough for Keilan to wonder if Alyanna had been mistaken. He opened his mouth at one point to ask her something, but sh
e shook her head fiercely, so he remained silent.

  Then he heard it. It was a scraping, like a vast bulk was being dragged over stone. He wanted to peek around the edge of the doorway and see what was approaching, but when he shifted slightly Alyanna reached out to restrain him and he sank back again. She looked stricken, her face emptied of color and her eyes wide and terrified. To see such fear in the sorceress was in truth more unnerving than the sound coming from outside. A smell drifted to Keilan – it was the smell of dead sea things rotting in the sun; the beach at low tide after the water had retreated, but many times stronger. The wall he was pressed against creaked, and it almost felt like it buckled slightly, as if a great weight was pushing against the other side. He stayed silent, not daring to breathe.

  The scraping continued for longer than he would have imagined possible. Either the thing was moving extremely slowly, or it was as long as a wagon train. Finally, the sound faded into the distance, and the noxious smell diminished, although it did not vanish entirely.

  Cho Lin was the first to speak. “What was that?”

  Alyanna was still pale and shaken. “I do not know. But I’ve felt its like before. It reeked of the Void.”

  “How can there be creatures in the Void?” Keilan had always conceived of the Void as a place of raw energy, the material that sorcerers drew forth to weave into spells.

  Alyanna didn’t answer him, staring at nothing. He sensed she was reliving some dark memory, and he left her to her recollections.

  Finally, she shook her head and pushed herself from the wall. She looked composed again, and Keilan felt a surge of relief. If she broke here, he didn’t think they would ever find their way out of this cursed place.

  “We must be on our way,” she said, and strode from the building.

  The flesh of the White Worm materialized from the mist like sorcery. It soared upwards into the gloom, white and craggy, laced with the faded remnants of scars and covered in places with broad patches of something that resembled lichen. As his gaze lingered on those ancient wounds, Keilan couldn’t help but wonder what sort of creature could inflict such damage on a beast as large as a mountain. The heartbeat that had been gradually swelling louder during their journey was now so strong he felt himself tremble with every deep reverberation.

  Beside him, Alyanna hissed in triumph. “I did it,” she said. “I have led us through the city.”

  Steel rasped as Cho Lin drew one of her Shan swords. “Are the Betrayers in there?” she asked, pointing with the tip of the blade at a strange black structure grafted onto where the wall of white flesh disappeared into the stone floor. It was the only building pressed up against the Ancient’s bulk, and it did not resemble any other that they had passed: while the rest of the city was rounded, with curving doorways and roofs, this structure was all sharp edges, like a great heap of mismatched swords and lances forged into one spiny whole. An entrance was set into the side of the building, infringed by tapering black-metal points so that it resembled a fanged mouth, and a river of the glowing mist was issuing forth from this doorway, coiling and twisting in the streets before slithering away.

  “They must be,” Alyanna said softly, slowly approaching the structure’s gaping maw. Keilan felt her tightening the weave of her wards, and he did the same.

  “Do they know we’re here?” Keilan whispered, eyeing the doorway’s spines nervously.

  “I hope not,” the sorceress answered quietly. Keilan saw that she had drawn the ivory wand. Cho Lin appeared beside him, brandishing a Shan sword in one hand and the glistening black knife in the other. “Strike fast, strike true,” Alyanna said, raising the wand. Then she plunged forward, into the mist-shrouded doorway, and they followed her.

  The mist enveloped her, and for a terrifying moment she was blind. She still sensed Keilan on her right as she rushed into the building, the weave of his ward rough but strong – well, strong enough, she hoped. The Shan must be beside him, though Alyanna couldn’t sense her, as she was protected from sorcery by the artifact of Tethys. Alyanna had considered trying to craft an ambush, but had discarded that idea in favor of boldness. If the Chosen knew they were coming, they would expect subtlety and prepare accordingly. If they were unaware, a fast, brazen attack might prove overwhelming. In truth, they just needed to close any distance quickly so that the Shan could use the knife on the demons. Alyanna would distract the Chosen and the Skein shaman by presenting herself – a Talent wielding powerful artifacts – as the greatest threat, while Cho Lin sought her chance to end this nightmare.

  The dimensions of the space they had entered seemed disproportionate to what they had seen from the outside. Alyanna couldn’t see the walls, nor did she see the white flesh of the Ancient rising up in front of her. She floundered her way forward, peering into the mist for a flash of corpse-flesh or tangled black hair, struggling to restrain the roiling sorcery in the wand she held. Her heart leapt as she glimpsed something dark deeper in the murk, and she lunged in that direction, but then slowed to a halt when she realized it had vanished.

  She whirled around, snarling, sorcery singing in her veins. The mist eddied and swirled, so thick she could barely see more than a few span in front of her face.

  It was then that she realized she was alone. “Keilan,” she hissed, casting about with her senses. The boy’s fumbling attempts at a ward should have flared like a candle in the dark, but she could feel nothing. Foolish; why would he dispense with his protections?

  “Keilan!” she repeated, louder than before. “Where are you?” Tendrils of cool mist brushed her skin, raising gooseflesh.

  She saw movement again out of the corner of her eye, and turned quickly to confront whatever was lurking out there. With a trembling hand she raised her wand, preparing to unleash the fury of its bound soul.

  The swirling murk parted, and Demian was revealed. She gasped, staggering backwards. The swordsinger watched her with sad eyes, one hand resting on the hilt of his cursed sword. His pale face glistened from the cool mist, damp black curls plastered to his brow and neck. It looked like he had been waiting here for a long time.

  “Demian?” she whispered, not trusting what she was seeing.

  “Weaver,” he replied.

  It sounded like him. His expression of calm detachment was one she had seen countless times.

  But this was impossible – he was dead. She’d killed him.

  “It can’t be you.”

  He cocked his head to one side, his thin lips pursed. “It is.” She felt it then, the sorcery swelling inside him. Bright and hot, a vastness only a Talent could summon. What was this? How could this be? Alyanna quested out with her own power, but instead of investigating Demian, she explored the aura of his sword. Malazinischel was as unique and powerful an artifact as had ever been forged, and she had spent enough time in the corrupted blade’s presence to be certain whether or not it was a forgery. She felt the presence within the cracked sword tremble with anticipation, swirling with unfettered hatred for her, the same as it always had. Dazed, she withdrew her sorcery. An illusion could be crafted to deceive the eyes and the mind, but it was impossible to fool her sorcerous senses.

  Emotions surged within Alyanna, her vision blurring. She blinked away her tears, struggling with what she should say. She hated herself for what she had done, the guilt a hollow ache in her chest . . . yet she knew she would do it all again if the stakes were the same.

  “Why have you come?” she asked, her voice cracking.

  “The same reason I always came,” he replied in the calm and measured voice she knew so well. “Because you need me.”

  “But . . . I saw you die.”

  Demian’s thin lips curved into a weary smile. “No, you didn’t, Weaver. I became the vessel for another. But that shadow has lifted, from both myself and the mountain. It has returned to where it came from. And so I sought you out again.”

  “For
revenge?” she whispered. It was what was just, she knew.

  “No. To help you.”

  She had never deserved Demian.

  “We need your help,” she said, her words tumbling out in a rush. “A Talent and the Chosen are trying to wake this Ancient. With your strength, we can stop them, I know it.”

  He stepped forward, his dark eyes holding hers. “You have always been pure, Weaver. True to your nature. I understand you better than anyone. And that is why I am offering you a chance to escape death yet again.”

  Keilan pushed through the swirling mist, trying his best to maintain his wards. The sorcery was slippery, threatening to squirm out of his grasp, and it took all his concentration just to keep his ragged shield from failing. He was so distracted that it was several moments before he realized that he could no longer sense the sorceress beside him.

  “Alyanna?” he cried, blundering towards where she should have been. The mists swirled, stirred by his outstretched hands, but did not part to reveal the immortal sorceress. His breathing quickened as his panic rose. Where had she gone? Had the Chosen somehow seized her already?

  “Cho Lin?” he tried, dreading the thought that he could be alone in this terrible place.

  No answer. Keilan tried to calm himself, focusing on keeping his wards strong. Perhaps this mist deadened sound, and they were really just a few span from him, also calling out his name. Swallowing away his fear, Keilan began to push through the mist. If they all did the same, they would meet where the back of this structure pressed up against the flesh of the Ancient.

  His unease grew when he realized he should have already hit the far wall. The building had looked to be no more than fifty paces deep from the outside, yet he’d gone twice that distance and there was nothing in front of him except this Shael-cursed mist. He was just about to turn back and try to retrace his steps when a woman emerged from the churning murk.