Plague of Shadows

by Howard Andrew Jones

  She'd been a fool. The shadow hound and the missing horse had been an obvious ploy to lead her from the keep—a mystery intriguing enough to lure her out, but not one so dangerous she wouldn't be able to handle it. Who else but Arcil would have been so careful? The question was why. He had no reason to hate Stelan any longer. He'd been gone for twenty years. What could he possibly be after?

  Persaily gamely worked into a gallop, though her breath came in heavy gasps. They flew from the village and pounded up the hill to the old keep. Elyana hated to overtax the animal, but if Stelan had been poisoned, he might not have much time left. She might already be too late.

  The mailed armsmen at the portcullis lifted lanterns and stepped aside. She swept past them, ducking her head under the points of the gate retracting into the stone arch above. She reached the courtyard and swung down from the saddle as a gasping and trembling Persaily came to a halt before the stables.

  "She's been ridden hard," Elyana said as the stable hand ran up. "See that she's rubbed down and given half a bucket of warm water. If I'm not back in two hours, start feeding her some small handfuls of grain."

  The boy bobbed his head quickly, eager to please even at so late an hour. "Certainly, m'lady."

  Elyana patted Persaily's neck as she stepped away, then held scabbard to hip and raced for the old wooden door to the keep's tower. She scarcely acknowledged the chamberlain's bow. He must have been told she was riding up, as he had no other reason to linger in the entryway.

  "Is he still alive?"

  "I think so, Lady, but—"

  "Where is he?"

  The chamberlain bowed his head respectfully and his hand swept out toward the stone stairs. "He is in his—" before he said the word "bedchamber" Elyana was already pelting up the crescent steps.

  She found Stelan in the room that made up most of the keep's top floor. He lay under a thin linen shroud in his canopied bed. Waiting in the bow-shaped room with him were an anguished-looking Renar; a sturdy little cleric of Abadar, robed in white silk and sitting at the baron's side; and the baroness, wan and pale, an aging beauty whose dark locks were now threaded with gray. Elyana paid scant heed to the subtle turn of Lenelle's lip at sight of her and stepped to the side of her old friend.

  His arms lay atop the cover; everything below his chest lay beneath. And that scarred face with its broken nose and graying beard was still.

  Elyana reached out for his left hand.

  "Don't touch him!" Lenelle said swiftly, and Elyana snatched back her hand, astonished Lenelle would be territorial over him even now.

  "He bruises with but the slightest touch," the cleric said quietly, and Elyana felt a pang of guilt for assuming the worst of Lenelle until she saw the woman's eyes. She knew then that Lenelle might have used the same words regardless of Stelan's condition.

  Elyana looked away from her and down at Stelan. She saw the slow rise and fall of the cloth above his chest.

  "He lives," Lenelle told her, her Chelish accent sliding over the vowels.

  Elyana looked to the cleric, who had risen politely. She ignored the bow of his head. "What's wrong with him?"

  "I have been in prayer," the man said, adjusting his gold chain of office with pompous dignity. "I believe he has been cursed."

  "What makes you say that?"

  Lenelle answered sharply. "'Twas the letter, not prayer, that showed him that."

  "My prayer confirmed it," the cleric countered.

  "What letter?" Elyana asked.

  Lenelle gently withdrew a folded piece of parchment from the table by the bedside, passing it across Stelan's body.

  "It was addressed to you," Lenelle continued, "and I am sorry to have opened it." She did not sound especially apologetic. "It was lying beside him, where he lay on the floor."

  There was no mistaking the handwriting, cramped and precise even though its wielder had attempted an elegant flow with his letters. Arcil had only ever been able to pretend gentility, never to feel it, even in his writing.

  Elyana let out a sigh. Sometimes she hated being right. She unfolded the parchment.

  Dearest Elyana,

  I regret that we must become reacquainted under such unpleasant circumstances, but since our old friend proved so unwilling to deal with me in any sort of reasonable fashion, I am turning to you. Neither you nor Stelan's family should grow too alarmed.

  The trouble that has afflicted Stelan is completely curable, and when he recovers he will be no worse for the effects. He might even be more rested. All you have to do is turn over that old statuette we recovered from Athalos. I know that you remember the one; you rightly found it hideous.

  Had Stelan accepted my initial correspondence, he would have been well rewarded for parting with the thing, which I now find useful for my researches. Instead, I have been forced into the uncomfortable position of causing consternation to his charming family, and yourself.

  Be waiting before the castle gate with the statuette at midnight. My familiar will collect it, and then Stelan will be as he was before and we shall all be happy.

  Do not try to be clever this time, Elyana. I am ever so much more skilled than I was when you knew me, and as you used to say, I become obsessive about my interests.

  The missive was signed, "Respectfully, Arcil."

  Renar practically pounced on Elyana the moment she lowered the letter, his words galloping. "Mother says that Arcil was a friend of yours and father's. It doesn't make any sense! Why would a friend do this? And what statue is he talking about?"

  Elyana, lost in her thoughts, did not immediately answer.

  "He was very proper and civil when he came for the wedding," Lenelle said. "I would not have expected this of him."

  "This death threat's civil as well," Elyana pointed out, then dropped it unceremoniously on the bed. The cleric eyed the paper cautiously.

  Elyana turned to Renar. "He was our friend. He rode with your father and me for many years, and helped Stelan restore these lands, but he was ...not an especially nice man." Elyana could have backed up her point by providing the boy with several telling examples, but it might be possible for Lenelle to disapprove of her even more.

  "How do you think he got in?" Renar asked. "Can you find him and reason with him? Can you catch him?"

  Before Elyana could frame an answer to any of those questions, Lenelle asked one herself: "Do you know where this statue is?"

  Elyana shook her head. She hadn't seen the ugly thing since before Renar was born.

  Renar hadn't given up. "Can you find him?" he repeated. "Talk to him?"

  "Arcil, or something he sent, got in and out via magic. He might be close, but he won't be in the keep." She paused for a moment, lost in thought. "And no ...I don't think I can reason with him. Not anymore."

  "What is this statue, exactly?" Lenelle asked.

  "It's part of a ..." Should she tell her it was loot they found in the keep of a shadow wizard? "...one of our recovery operations. We divided the spoils, and that ugly statue was one of the last things to go. It's fashioned in the likeness of a furred beast."

  "Like a wolf?" Renar asked. "Or a bear, or something?"

  She could have told him it was in the shape of a vile monster from another plane. The less Renar knew about any of that, the better. "It's only about a foot high, ornamented with silver filigree, and has two bloodstones for eyes. I would have thought your father had gotten rid of it years ago." She glanced at the paper. "But Arcil's methodical. If he thinks Stelan has it, he probably does." She eyed Lenelle. "Arcil says there's been some kind of contact between the two of them. Are there other letters?"

  Lenelle stepped around the side of the bed. "There are."

  "Stelan did not mention them to me."

  "Does he keep you apprised of everything?" Lenelle asked coolly.

>   Elyana did not trouble replying. It was peculiar that Stelan had kept Arcil's contact secret. Why hadn't he told her?

  "He's been troubled whenever they arrived," Lenelle continued, "but he would not discuss the letters with me, or share them."

  "He expressly forbid her from looking," Renar said, adding, "that's what mother said when we were talking about them earlier."

  So Stelan had kept them from everyone. He hadn't wanted anyone to worry. "Where are they?" Elyana asked.

  Lenelle and Renar glanced about the room at the same instant. There was precious little furniture—a wardrobe, a table, and three chests. The boy took a lantern from a hook beside the door and hurried to the first chest.

  Elyana could see nothing over the boy's shoulder but neatly folded clothing. She turned to the cleric. "Do you have any idea what's afflicted the baron?"

  Lenelle again interrupted, speaking imperiously to the little man. "I am sure you recall that we recently donated the funds to repair the tilework in the bell tower." She stepped up to Elyana, the closest the woman had been to her in Elyana's memory. Elyana realized after a startled moment that Lenelle was ham-handedly striving to intimidate the cleric with a show of rank: the two leading ladies of Adrast standing together.

  "We are well aware of the strength of your piety." The cleric cleared his throat, apparently uncomfortable under the dual scrutiny. "That's not the issue. The issue is that your husband, the noble baron, is suffering from a curse that I am unable to identify."

  "Arcil doesn't mention a curse," Elyana said. "Not once. Are you sure that it's not a poison?"

  A frown briefly crossed the cleric's features, then he bowed his head and fingered the key hanging from his neck chain. "I have laid hands upon him and summoned forth holy energy. The curative powers of Abadar would have healed any normal affliction. This is something different. In my experience, it must be a curse. A powerful one. You can see it—already his flesh sinks, and it is time to heal him once more."

  Elyana turned swiftly to Stelan and perceived dark circles deepening under his eyes, hollows forming between cheekbone and chin. The skin was tightening as it did on the very aged.

  The cleric turned to the bed, offered empty palms to the heavens, and with closed eyes began a prayer to Abadar.

  Elyana tuned out the words, watching side by side with Lenelle as the healing magic began its work. After only a few moments, Stelan was restored, though he remained asleep.

  "How often must you heal him?" Elyana asked.

  "Several times a day," the cleric answered. "More often if he is moved or jostled."

  "The mere act of lifting him into the bed covered him in bruises from head to foot," Lenelle told her.

  There was a clunk from behind them, and Elyana turned to find Renar had finished rifling through one chest and moved the lantern close to a second. Stelan's clothes lay in a rough pile beside him, and more swiftly joined them as the young man dug into the second chest.

  "Elyana." Lenelle was considering her through her long eyelashes. "I know that you have some skill with healing magics. Perhaps you can examine my husband?"

  This was another first, but Elyana only bowed her head with grace. "I shall. But if Stelan's condition is as the cleric says, aiding him will be beyond my powers."

  She stepped around Stelan's wife. She could not help trailing long fingers along the dark wooden footboard and past the slim decorative column that held up one side of the canopy. The bed was a heavy piece of furniture, but its carver had shaped it with a care and simple precision, and feeling it under her skin had always pleased her.

  Lenelle's mouth thinned disapprovingly as Elyana drew off Stelan's covers, exposing a wrinkled beige shirt. Whoever had carried him to the bed had not bothered to change him into a dressing gown. They had likely been afraid to bruise him further.

  The ties that closed the shirt over Stelan's pectorals were undone; it was interesting to see that the hair here was turning gray as well. She opened the shirt more widely and gently touched the fingertips of her left hand to the exposed flesh.

  Lenelle sucked in a hissing breath, for dark marks appeared beneath Elyana's touch. What exactly had Arcil done to him?

  Elyana closed her eyes, gathering her energy. Arcil was well acquainted with her own meager magical talents, and would certainly have anticipated she would try a healing. She therefore doubted she would be any use at all, except that she would learn the nature of the affliction. Why, then, had Arcil been so deliberately vague about what he'd done? Not because he meant to keep the matter secret, she thought, but because Arcil prided himself on his politeness. He had acted with cold-blooded calculation, but would have found discussing the sordid details gauche.

  Once, long ago, Arcil's peculiar understanding of honor had wryly amused her. The sound of his sharp, surprised laugh rang unbidden in her memory, and her mind flooded with other moments: that slight, shy smile he shared only with her, his low voice on a late night watch, the frantic cry of her name as he searched for her in the fog after the hounds had come. These and other recollections rained down upon her like the shards of a stained glass window, and the pain of vanished moments and missed chances stabbed deeply bittersweet.

  Arcil should have grown into someone better.

  Gritting her teeth, she felt her own life energy extend through her fingertips and merge with Stelan's.

  Stelan's heartbeat was slow and steady, his breathing regular and deep. She explored his life force with her own, feeling her way through muscle and bone. Here was a notch from that spear thrust along his ribs, inflamed again—why had he not told her so that she could ease the pain? She found scars from other old injuries as well. Folk said elves were more resilient than humans, but it was not quite true—human bodies just didn't last as long, and their scars had less time to heal without outside assistance.

  She was hardly an expert healer, and she was reaching the limit of her abilities. Still, she extended herself further, trying better to sense the more complex systems of Stelan's body. Long moments passed as she reached through the web of veins, rich with life. She could detect no poison; there was, in fact, nothing odd about him at all except for the visible wounding he'd taken at her slightest touch, and his continued unconsciousness.

  She opened her eyes to find the humans staring at her.

  "Can you help him?" Lenelle's voice was still controlled, but Elyana heard a plaintive note. Whatever her faults, the woman loved Stelan.

  Elyana wished for her sake, for Stelan's sake, that she had better news. "No. The cleric is correct. He's been cursed."

  Chapter Two

  Unfinished Business

  You're sure?" Lenelle asked, then spoke on before Elyana could answer. "How can it be removed? Can you remove it?"

  "It is far beyond my knowledge. Perhaps the cleric's superiors?"

  The little man offered his open palms. "I am afraid that I am the best we have here. I can send word to Yanmass, but that will require weeks. I don't know if I can keep him alive long enough to await a reply."

  Elyana wasn't surprised. Stelan's rule had invigorated the little village, but Adrast was still a backwater, and a healer or wizard skilled enough to counter someone of Arcil's power would probably be found only in a major city.

  "What if we take him to Yanmass?" Renar offered. He had come up behind Elyana, and continued speaking at great speed. "Then we wouldn't have to wait for word to reach Yanmass. We could get him the best help immediately."

  "He nearly died being carried to the bed," Lenelle protested. "How do you think he'd fare in a cart on a rutted road?"

  "The local clerics could ride with him and heal him—" Renar began.

  The little cleric was shaking his head, then talked over Renar, speaking with force for the first time. "I am sorry, my child. Your mother is completely correct. We wou
ld swiftly exhaust our store of healing magics. For the lord's own sake, he should not be moved."

  "Then we have no choice," Lenelle said. "We will have to do as Arcil says. We'll leave off this pointless search for the letters and look instead for the statuette."

  Elyana shook her head. "Your husband didn't want to hand over the statue, or he would have done so."

  "He is not in charge now," Lenelle retorted. "I am. We will find the statue and turn it over to Arcil."

  Elyana understood the woman's sentiment. "I want to help him too, Lenelle. But Stelan knew what Arcil was capable of. He didn't think Arcil should have the statue, or he'd have given it to him."

  Lenelle's expression in no way softened, but she fell silent.

  "What are we to do?" Renar asked.

  Elyana stepped over to where Renar waited beside the chests and eyed them herself. It would not be there, under any of those clothes.

  Two of the chests were all but identical, and it took a moment for her to recall which was the one until she lowered the open lid. Then, across one of their rounded heights, she spotted the reddish knothole. She pressed her thumb inside it, then raised the lid again to reveal a slim plank on the lid's underside that had swung loose. A parcel of papers sat within the gap. She removed them and stood.

  "Is that them?" Renar asked.

  "What do you have?" Lenelle asked indignantly. "How did you know those were there?"

  Elyana sighed inwardly. After all these years, Lenelle was still envious, no matter that Stelan had been hers now for almost half his lifetime. Elyana kept her voice level, as though the matter were unimportant. "I know that chest of old. I didn't know he still used it."

  The three folded papers had broken black seals with Arcil's signature. Ignoring the disapproving gaze of the baroness, Elyana leafed through them.

  They proved to be variations on a theme. The first one was brusquely cordial. Arcil began by reminding Stelan of their years of comradeship and asking if he knew the whereabouts of the old statuette, for which he would be willing to pay a handsome sum. The next missive refused offer of coins in the statuette's place, increased the monetary incentive, and made a veiled threat. The third letter was much more terse and impatient. She handed off the letters one by one to Lenelle as she finished.