Shadow’s Lure

by Jon Sprunk

  Caim gathered up the shadows around him. They whispered and crooned in the trees overhead. Taking a deep breath, he sent them back toward the clearing.

  Through the canopy of branches, the horned moon emerged from behind a bank of clouds. Its rays cast silver halos around ice crystals hanging in the trees. Caim pulled down his hood and concentrated on keeping his footing.

  It was going to be a long night.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Sybelle gazed down at her lover reclining on the bed, and thoughts of murder turned in her head. He slept like a man half in his grave, drunk on rich southern wine and kafir and sex. So fragile, this life he clung to. She could extinguish it as easily as putting out a candle. Some how, that made her love him all the more. She bit down on her tongue.

  I will not love him anymore. I will not!

  He stirred, his lips pursing as if to kiss her, and the murderous thoughts fled. As she leaned down to meet his mouth, an icy tentacle caressed her ankle. Turning away from the bed, she opened a shadow door, and stepped through …

  … onto the cool stone floor of her sanctum. Shadows flocked to her as she went to the pool.

  The waters were in flux. Leaning over the low retaining wall, Sybelle saw bodies on the snow amid puddles of congealing blood. So it was no surprise to her when a great helmet filled the pool. Flecks of moonlight glinted from its black metal, but no light intruded upon the narrow eye slits. Soloroth had been taken from her not long after he was born to be raised by his grandfather, and she hadn’t seen him again until he came of age. By then his eyes—as dark as her own—had become empty. The eyes of a stranger.

  “What did you find?”

  “The information was accurate.” His voice echoed through the cavern. “An unlawful gathering took place here, but the area is now under our control.”

  The view shifted to a nearby body. The man had been split nearly in half at the waist—Soloroth’s handiwork, no doubt.

  “All were slain?”

  “A handful escaped. My wolves are in pursuit.”

  His wolves. With a hiss, Sybelle slashed her fingers across the water’s surface where the helmet loomed. “I told you to eliminate them completely!”

  The slits of his helmet remained fixed upon her across the intervening distance until the waves stilled. “They will be found.”

  “There is something else. What is it?”

  “There was a shivalar among the outlaws.”

  A shadow walker?

  “Impossible. There are no shivalar in this—” A wayward thought froze the words on her lips. She swallowed. “The scion?”

  He stared at her without answering. She had known it might come to this after she communed with Levictus’s shade. She could send Soloroth after the target, but it would take him into unknown territory. Still, if he succeeded …

  Sybelle’s heart almost stopped as a deep tone echoed through the sanctum. A summons.

  “Find him,” she told Soloroth. “And kill him.”

  “There is another matter. Lord Arion wishes to return to the city.”

  No surprise in that. She wished she could allow Soloroth to eliminate the duke’s whelp while he was at it, but Erric adored his son and that tenderness was a useful vulnerability.

  “Convince him. Tie him over a horse if need be, but bring me the scion’s head.”

  As the helmet disappeared into the pool’s depths, the chime rang again. At a pass of her hand, the waters became as smooth as glass, and another image appeared. Sybelle bowed her head.

  “Master.”

  “Have your forces crossed yet into Nimea, Sybelle?”

  No greeting. No words of affection. His voice was hard enough to shatter an empire, and perhaps rebuild it anew. Though she would have preferred to lie, she dared not.

  “No. There have been delays with—”

  “More excuses! My agents report the Nimeans are divided against each other and ready to topple at the slightest excuse.”

  She flinched at his anger, and at the mention of other agents in the south. She had believed she was his only emissary in this part of the world, and cursed herself for not suspecting otherwise.

  “I serve as best I am able with the tools at hand, Master. And now that the cold season has set in—”

  “The weakness of these Brightlanders has corrupted you, Sybelle. My own daughter, reduced to a mewling babe spewing pretexts and justifications.”

  “No, Master.” She dared to meet his eyes. They were shimmering jewels set deep in his face under ominous brows, reflecting nothing back to her. “Plans are moving according to your dictates.”

  “Tell me.”

  Sybelle bowed her head once more, the picture of perfect obedience as she told him about the massacre of the clan chiefs, and how under her supervision Erric was moving to pacify the region.

  “I mistrust this alliance you have embarked upon, Sybelle. These Brightlanders do not think as we do. They do not understand power. End it.”

  Sybelle swallowed as she scrambled for an argument to salvage what she had built here. When she first joined her father in exile from the Shadow, she had shared his vision for the conquest of a new domain. But matters changed when he sent her to Eregoth. First there was the unspeakable business with her sister. Then she’d found Erric, and her ideas about what was possible in this world had altered.

  “I believe this can still work to our advantage.”

  She trembled as the words left her mouth. Testing her father’s indulgence was a dangerous gambit. He cared for her, she knew, as much as he cared for anything or anyone, but the risk lay in measuring those depths.

  “Explain.”

  “Though the duke is weak as you say, his people are loyal. Much time would be lost if we deposed him now. I can manage him. He will do whatever I instruct. Soon this land will be under our full control, and thereafter we will expand into Nimea.”

  She waited with downcast eyes for his response. She thought of Erric and the life she wished she could have with him. A normal life. And perhaps another child, one not so brooding and distant as her son. A child she could love and teach—

  “I see through you, Sybelle. You spend too much time in the pursuit of your appetites.”

  “Master, I—”

  “Be silent.”

  Her hands curled into fists within the wide sleeves of her gown, but she held her tongue. Evil thoughts percolated inside her brain, dreams of a day when she would supplant him.

  “Sybelle, Sybelle. My dark angel. Sorceress without peer.”

  She tensed. When her father handed out praise, people died.

  “Impress me, Sybelle.”

  She was careful to hide her smile.

  “Impress me with swift victory,” he said. “My other captains are enjoying success on their fronts. I would not wish to see you fall behind.”

  “I will make every effort. You will see. I shall prove myself still your most potent weapon.”

  “I hope so. For your sake, Daughter.”

  She froze in the act of looking up. As the image dimmed within the pool’s water, those last words lingered between them. She experienced a moment of panic, but calmed herself. Not even he could read her thoughts. Still, she would pressure Erric to make more advances, to win more victories she could claim as her own. So far, she had been content to hide behind the throne and pull the strings, but perhaps she had erred too far on the side of prudence.

  Sybelle turned away from the pool, and the shadows flocked to her, cooing as they pressed their small bodies against her skin. She walked to the passageway leading to the temple. Her next move would be a bold thrust, enough to pacify her father and bring her one step closer to her ultimate aim. If she could not change what was, she must prepare for what would be.

  Her mind awash with plans and stratagems, it occurred to Sybelle that she had failed to mention the scion to her father. An oversight? No, she didn’t want her father involved. She didn’t know on which side he would come down.
>
  The corpse’s ice-blue eyes stared up at the sky. Looking down, Arion wondered if such eyes were common among the barbarians. This was the first dead Northman he’d ever seen. They had seemed so indestructible, until today.

  He turned to Stiv. The sergeant still lived, but it was hard to look at him. Horrid coin-sized wounds covered his face, even through his thick beard. When they were through with this fool’s errand, would they envy Yanig, lying in a bed with a yard of stitches in his body?

  “How do you feel?”

  The sergeant dabbed at his face with the end of his cloak. “Like a damned fool. We should have known to bring crossbows. Shot the bastard from a hundred paces.”

  Arion glanced away. For the sake of his honor, he had put the lives of his men at risk. He didn’t know why the man in black hadn’t killed them. Twice they’d been at his mercy, and twice been allowed to live.

  Okin sat beside a bonfire, staring into the dwindling flames. He had screamed when the demon bats—the little pieces of darkness—fell upon them a second time. At least Arion thought it had been Okin. Maybe it was me.

  Bodies were strewn across the snow, most of them outlaws. Is that what they are? He’d been taught to believe that criminals ran when confronted, rather than stand and fight, but he didn’t know what to think anymore. Not about this, and not about what he’d seen in the south, where his father’s raiding parties sacked defenseless villages. He only knew he didn’t want to be a part of it anymore.

  The stomp of heavy boots brought him around as the Northmen returned to the clearing. They numbered just twenty, but each fought like a grizzly bear. Their leader, Garmok, was a vicious hulk of a man who laughed as he killed.

  The Beast stood before the trees, looking in the direction the man in black had run off. His Northmen moved around the clearing, stabbing the cold bodies, hacking off limbs and unspooling entrails. Arion looked away. It wasn’t until he heard stifled groans that he understood they were killing the wounded, friend and foe alike.

  “Lord Soloroth!” Arion shouted. “We should take prisoners.”

  The Beast turned. A rumble echoed from the mouth slit of his helmet. “We pursue the one who escaped.”

  “I told you. You can go after them if you like, but my men are injured. We’re returning to Liovard to report to my father.”

  The Beast did not move, but something in his stance made Arion want to grab for his sword.

  “We give chase. Those who cannot keep up …”

  A shriek sounded from the other side of the clearing, followed by a wicked chortle. Arion’s hands trembled, but whether from fear or rage he could not say. Instead of answering, he helped Stiv to his feet, and together they assisted the others.

  As Garmok led the barbarians northward, followed by their dread master, Arion waited behind. They’d left their dead without so much as a prayer to see them into the next world. How can you defeat men who don’t even fear the gods?

  Arion tried not to think about it as he focused on putting one foot before the other.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Kit sighed as the sunshine penetrated her body. A cool breeze rustled the grass beneath her hair and bathed her in smells of willow and sweet water. She looked up into the lavender sky. Then a note of agitation entered her brain. Something was wrong. It took a moment for it to sink in.

  She was solid again.

  Kit sat up in a short dress that left her legs bare. A ruby-red stream drifted past her toes. Beyond the stream, and all around her, stretched a forest of small, cyan trees. Ashen clouds wafted in the distance. She put a hand to her mouth, not trusting her eyes. It can’t be!

  She was home.

  How could this have happened? The last thing she remembered was floating above Caim as he argued with the other mud-men. While she waited for Caim to kill them, she investigated the surrounding woods. Something hadn’t felt right. She recalled feeling a little odd, like there was a rope around her waist, pulling her away from the firelit meadow. She had tried to fight it. Then more mud-men arrived, and everything went dark.

  Kit stood up and swayed for a moment. After being weightless for so long, the sudden drag of the ground upon her body was disconcerting. As she found her balance, a high, piping voice caught her ears. Kit froze, knowing it at once.

  “Kitrine! Kitrine, there you are!”

  Kit turned to see her sister, Dahlia, running across the sapphire lawn. She almost tripped, and Dahlia caught her with a contralto laugh.

  “Kitrine, what’s the matter with you? Mother and father are waiting.”

  Kit’s stomach flipped over and she clutched onto her sister, who felt more real than, well, anything she’d known in the last twenty-odd years. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes.

  “Dahlia, how long have I been away?”

  “Away?” Her sister kissed her on the cheek. She smelled of ginrose and papucorn blossoms. “Silly! Where would you go? Come on. It’s already past midday, and Mother made tarts just for you.”

  Kit pulled back, confused. This didn’t feel right. She’d been gone for a long time. Why was Dahlia talking as if she’d never left? Unless I didn’t. Unless it was all just a dream … No! I was in the Brightlands with Caim. It was real!

  But here was her little sister, tugging on her hand. Laughing, Dahlia ran ahead toward a gentle hill that rose from the trees. A small palace sat upon the tor, its argent walls glistening in the sunlight. Kit started to follow, but her steps slowed as something tugged at the back of her mind. She looked over her shoulder, to the stream and the dark clouds on the horizon. There was a brief flash in the distance. A storm was coming. Why do I feel so strange?

  “Kitrine!” Dahlia called. “We’re all waiting for you.”

  Kit wanted to follow, but a quiet dread held her back, a feeling that she was missing something. A rugged profile appeared in her thoughts. Caim! She had to get back to him. Kit took a step toward the stream.

  The sky turned dark. A cruel wind erupted from nowhere and knocked her to the ground. The trees bent over. Kit winced at the sounds of snapping branches. Fighting through the tumult, she crawled another step. A tear ripped down the center of the sky, filled with angry thunderheads. Kit shouted as an invisible force snatched her up.

  The roaring wind battered her to the ground. She coughed as grit flew up her nose. Hacking it out, Kit turned away from the brunt of the cruel gale and opened her eyes.

  There was no sky overhead, no sun or moon, no mountains or hills in the distance, only roiling masses of black storm clouds all around. But this was no dream. She knew this place. She’d been here once before, when she answered the call of Caim’s mother. This was the Barrier, the nether-world between the Shadow and the Brightlands. And the place where she had been—or thought she’d been—was far away. Standing up, buffeted by the powerful wind, she tried to forget the mirage of her homeland. From what she recalled of her last journey through this place, she wasn’t glad to be back. Things lurked in the hazy mists, things even a Fae had reason to fear.

  A glimmer of light made her turn around. A vertical disk of light split the grayness a dozen strides away. It was a gateway between worlds, one of the many that permeated the Barrier. Something moved within the circle of light. She saw a face.

  Caim!

  With a surge of exhilaration, Kit threw herself at the portal, then gasped as she slid down its unyielding surface. Her hands pawed at the glassy plane where the opening should have been. She shouted and beat on it with her fists, finally stopping when the pain became too much to continue. Then she sat down and buried her face in her arms against the harsh wind. She didn’t know what was happening, or why she was here, but this portal wasn’t going to grant her passage. She had to find another. As she looked around, trying to determine the best direction to go, a low growl rumbled in the haze. Kit gathered her legs under her.

  A long black shape appeared, prowling low to the ground. Kit moved away, but there was nowhere to hide. She had no weapons. Here, as s
olid as a mud-woman, she was struck by an awareness of her own vulnerability. Then she straightened up. She recognized this creature, although she wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

  Kit held out a hand to Caim’s shadow monster.

  She didn’t know exactly what the creature was. She wasn’t an expert on the Shadowlands; her people tried to avoid that gloomy place whenever possible. Of course, Caim never believed her. He always assumed she was keeping things from him. Well, sometimes she did, but only for his own good.

  The shadow beastie stopped a couple paces away. It looked bigger than the few times she’d seen it before, or perhaps she was just more conscious of its size now that it could conceivably kill and eat her. Don’t think about that. Think good thoughts! Nice doggie!

  She clucked her tongue and reached out to entice the creature, but it just looked at her. This is just like Caim. To get me thrown into this horrible place, and then send his pet along to make it more unpleasant. She stamped her foot, wishing she could chew him out right now. Or kiss him.

  What? Stop it, Kit! Keep your mind on getting out of here.

  She needed to get back before Caim, and maybe the shadow doggie could help. She tried to get its attention with a friendly wave.

  “Hello! Looks like we’re both stuck here, huh? At least it’s nice to see a familiar face….”

  She stopped as the creature faded from sight. One moment it was there, the next it was gone. How annoying! It just left me standing here.

  What would she do now? Kit turned in a slow circle, hoping to see something that might point her in the right direction. The glowing portal shimmered as if mocking her. She scratched her head. Her back of her scalp tingled like little fireflies were dancing in her hair. She turned her head, and the tingling shifted, now coming from the opposite direction as the portal. What did that mean?

  Kit chewed on her bottom lip. She could remain here and wait for the portal to work, which didn’t seem to be getting her anywhere. Or she could strike out and hope to find another way back. As she considered, a third option entered her mind. She could go back home. It would be a simple thing. Just a step and a moment’s concentration, and she would be back in the Fae for real this time. To see Dahlia and the rest of her family again. In all these years she’d spent with Caim, she never once considered it, but now …