Plague of Shadows

by Howard Andrew Jones

  It hit the ground, hard. Lightning still played across its scales. Its tail lashed, its wings beat the air. It backed away, battering into the walls. Books plummeted from the shelves left and right. Old and faded papers were shredded or wafted down from on high, torn free from their bindings. Arcil came out from behind his column to curse at the dragon as it bled copiously over the scattered tomes and pages.

  The beast sank down, blinked once, twice, and then stared sightlessly at them.

  Elyana watched it for a moment, then checked over Stelan. He was shaking.

  "I'm all right," Stelan told her. "Just cold. See if there's anything that can be done for Daramont. And keep your eyes sharp for Lathroft—"

  "Lathroft's dead," Elyana said. She stepped over to the downed knight.

  Unfortunately, there wasn't anything to do for Daramont. A quick check showed her that he'd probably bled to death after that first blow.

  His twin brother Eriah joined her, all but inconsolable, and talked of erecting a monument to him from the stones of the building—after they demolished it. Elyana patted his shoulder, still concerned about Stelan.

  Stelan sat heavily against one of the pillars. She joined him quickly. His skin was cold beneath her palm. "What's wrong with you?"

  Nadara had crept from her hiding place and stared around the room with bright eyes. "Where's Lathroft?"

  "I killed him," Elyana said.

  "Truly?" Nadara said, still sounding stunned. "Where's his body?"

  Elyana indicated the rift, still hanging open. The dead hand lay just before it. Nadara walked dazedly over. "Is he really dead?" she repeated.

  Elyana watched her until Stelan spoke wearily. "The dragon's breath leached strength and warmth from me. I just need rest."

  She laid her hands on him and discovered his assessment was basically accurate. He was physically drained, but he had no injuries other than those accrued during the battle that had won them entrance to this final chamber.

  Vallyn stood helplessly beside Eriah and Daramont. Nadara peered cautiously into the rift. She'd been nervous for weeks, and Vallyn had told them she was afraid Lathroft would discover her betrayal, or that their band would fail and he would take vengeance upon her. The bard was the only one who could get more than a few words out of the girl.

  Elyana walked around them all to check on Arcil, who'd taken a dart in the shoulder in that final fight up the corridor.

  Arcil stared at the pile of ruined volumes, oblivious to the line of dark dragon ichor spreading slowly across the flagstones. His mouth was open in anguish.

  As Stelan and Elyana walked closer he dropped to his knees and sought furiously among the books, lifting one, then another, to read the spines.

  "Sorry about the mess," Stelan offered.

  "You should have stayed down," Arcil said savagely. He spared him only a brief look. "My blast would have finished him without this."

  "Do you want me to apologize for killing the dragon?" Stelan offered. Elyana started to laugh, but Arcil spun with such an intense look of hatred that her smile vanished, stillborn.

  "You strutting ...You can make of joke of that? This was their library! Anything we wanted to learn about them—their habits, their practices—was here!"

  "There's plenty left to read," Vallyn offered.

  "Shut up, Vallyn."

  "Your priorities are misplaced, Arcil," Stelan said, a steely note creeping into his voice despite his fatigue. "One of our comrades is dead."

  Arcil scowled, as though that too were an inconvenience. He looked about to say more, then caught sight of Elyana and stared hard at her. His expression slowly lost its rancor, and he looked away. He stood. "Did I hear you say Lathroft's dead?"

  "He lies on the other side of that portal," Elyana told him. "It leads to the Plane of Shadow. I think it's controlled through the ring on his hand. It's over there."

  "By the gods!" Vallyn bent low. "Did you slice this off, Elyana? What a sword arm you have."

  "He had a weak wrist," Elyana offered, and the bard laughed.

  Arcil stepped lightly over to Nadara and steered her away from the portal. She retreated as if in a daze, and looked up at Vallyn. She was a slim waif, and Elyana supposed that she was pretty in a way, though her eyes were a little small. Certainly Vallyn was drawn to her, but then the bard was closer to her in age, and always ready to charm a new woman.

  "If Elyana says he's dead, he's dead," Vallyn offered, and flashed a smile. Nadara accepted the information with a short nod.

  Arcil turned and stared into the depths of the portal, like a man inspecting his reflection before a mirror. "By the heavens," he breathed. "That's actually the Plane of Shadow?"

  "It looks just as you always described," Elyana answered. "I don't know how long it will stay open, though. Isn't it dangerous to keep it that way?"

  Arcil didn't answer. He dropped carefully to one knee and almost touched the glowing ring. He let out a low, appreciative noise.

  Vallyn sidled up to Elyana. "You've made him very happy," the young man told her softly, adding, "How proud you must be."

  "Vallyn," Elyana said, her tone a warning.

  The bard was not dissuaded. His voice dropped even lower. "How long do you think it'll be before we have to track him to a shadow lair of his very own?"

  Chapter Twelve

  Social Engagements

  Bright melodies and joyous laughter rang in the air. Elyana barely noticed them. Instead, she stared at the finger around which she'd worn the dark ring for so many years. It had not taken Arcil long to divine the ring's usage, but then, he'd studied the texts of the wizards who used shadow magic. Would the Gray Gardeners fathom its use as easily? And if so, could they employ it against her?

  Then again, it might be that one of the soldiers had slipped it off her finger when she was captured, and it was even now on the black market.

  "This is so amazing," Renar said beside her. He'd been saying the same thing every few minutes for the last half-hour, just as soon as the plates were cleared from the tables and the singing and dancing had begun. It seemed like the whole of the settlement had gathered that night in an open space upon the green. Glowing lights drifted back and forth overhead, shining now red, now yellow, now blue. Their constant drift meant no place remained long in shadows.

  Dozens of the elven folk were up singing or playing their instruments, their voices raised in sweet harmony, and even more of them spun and skipped in a complicated group dance Elyana thought might be called a gabriole. She and Drelm and Renar were the only folk still seated, and she was feeling less and less comfortable by the moment. Sooner or later some merry elf would drag her to the dance floor, and then she would be even more out of place.

  Kellius had downed glass after glass of the sweet elven wine until he'd lost all restraint and trotted out there to join the dance lines, red and yellow flowers in his cap and an idiotic smile plastered across his face. She'd warned all of them that elven wine was more potent than it seemed, but Renar was the only one who'd taken her seriously. Vallyn had gladly sipped his fill, then joined the musicians. He stood on the table among them, strumming his lute and looking a little lost and a little lovestruck at the same time.

  "Amazing," Renar repeated. He had a hard time tearing his eyes from the flow of elven dancers, entranced by the long-limbed elven girls with their flowing skirts and curtains of hair. Elyana followed his gaze, smirking, and caught sight of Kellius, shifting his beanpole frame back and forth among the dancers, out of step and falling in and out of time.

  There was a flurry of motion by Renar's side, and Elyana turned in time to see Aliel beside him, hands reaching out. "Come, dance with me!" she ordered.

  It looked as though Renar had been thunderstruck. Aliel was tall and slim and young, not quite grown into a graceful neck and
long legs. Hers was a filly's beauty, but her eyes were radiant and her face flushed with excitement, her hair a wild tangle. Elyana wondered if her oath to protect Renar included heartbreak, and decided he would have to wend that path alone. Renar rose, grinning foolishly, and took Aliel's slim hand.

  The girl laughed and led him out among the dancers.

  Elyana wondered why she wasn't more pleased that no one had yet come to ask her hand. She was fairly certain that she didn't want to dance.

  Drelm sat on her right, drinking slowly from a battered dwarven stein. The elves had provided the rest of them with fluted, elegant drinking cups shaped from wood. Drelm seemed not to have noticed the insult. It might be he preferred this vessel to the smaller ones given the others.

  "I never thought to see so many of your folk," Drelm said finally. "They are so swift, and fragile."

  "Yes."

  "Their moods shift like water," Drelm said.

  Elyana nodded.

  "You are not like them."

  "No. No, I don't suppose that I am."

  He took a long draught. "I used to hear your laughter in the castle, and I thought you flirted with the baron." He glanced at her sidelong. "You do not laugh like that at other times."

  "You don't laugh at all," Elyana countered.

  Drelm grunted. His tiny eyes set on Renar. The boy's spirited stomping and hand waving made him seem as clumsy as Kellius, but he tried bravely to match the flowing pattern of the dancers around him. He beamed all the while at the delighted beauty beside him.

  "Your folk are naturally happy. But you are sad." Drelm drank. "I too know sadness," he said as he sat the mug down, "and through the strength of Abadar have not let the sadness become rage."

  This was swiftly becoming the longest conversation Elyana had ever shared with the captain. She eyed him in curiosity, for she sensed that he had more to say.

  "I have come to understand why the baron values you," Drelm went on. "Loyalty is your byword. The bard tells me you pledged your life for mine."

  "I did."

  He took a long draught. "I will not forget."

  That seemed to satisfy the guard captain, who finished off the mug and set it down with a thunk. He reached for the half-full wine carafe and poured another draught. "Too sweet," he said.

  Strange, she thought, that here surrounded by her own people, relaxed and garbed in their clothing, she still felt a greater bond with the half-orc they would have attacked on sight. His words had fired her own curiosity. "What is your sorrow, Drelm?"

  A frown pulled down one corner of his mouth, exposing the root of one tusk. "I do not discuss it." He looked at her sidelong and seemed to come to a decision. "I have made my weakness a strength," he admitted with a hint of pride.

  "What is your strength?"

  He thumped his chest twice with a closed fist. "My strength is honor. My strength is loyalty. I know what others say of me. They think me a brute and a coward. Yet my word is strong. All who see me know it."

  Elyana's expression softened. No, she thought, they do not. And more was the shame.

  Drelm spoke on. "I have prayed over it many times. The baron showed me how. He is a great man." This last point was unnecessary, for Elyana heard the reverence in the captain's voice whenever he mentioned Stelan.

  "He is. One I hope has many years left before him."

  A long moment passed. Drelm drank, glanced at her, drank again, then fixed her with an intent gaze. "What is it like," he blurted out, "to have so many years to live?"

  She considered him.

  His voice grew soft. "How old are you, Elyana?"

  She thought for a moment. "I shall be a hundred and eighty-nine this year. Sometimes it is hard to keep track of them."

  Drelm shook his head. "No wonder your family is dead. But you live."

  "Yes."

  "I did not know my family," he said, his expression darkening. "I shall die by my fiftieth year, if not before. But you and I are warriors. Death will find us before we reach our natural span." Drelm lifted his stein in salute, and she raised her own cup.

  "Honor," he said. She repeated the word, and they drank.

  She heard Alavar's voice at her side. "At these mellifluous festivities you sit idle, merely drinking?"

  He did not need to say that she sat drinking with an orc—Alavar's bewilderment was plain enough. At her look he bowed and broke into a smile. He extended his hand.

  Gone was the lord's diadem, though he retained the rest of his raiment. Tiny points within the ebon garb shifted with the lights. "Come, my extraordinary guest. Allow me to lift your feet."

  "Dance," Drelm urged her when she looked back at him. "Grab happiness while it lies before you."

  And so Elyana kicked off her slippers and joined the lord upon the grass, taking steps she but half-remembered. Alavar proved a fine leader. He guided her easily through the paces, and after the first minutes she was smiling and laughing like all the others, almost forgetting that a vast gulf of understanding divided her blood kin from herself. Were they truly as removed from worries as they seemed, when they became one with the music and the dance, or were they merely better accustomed to concealing their pain?

  What did they think as they passed by the table where the half-orc sat like a lonely gargoyle, sometimes illuminated brightly in colors that painted him orange or blood red, and sometimes hid him in shadow? Were they reminded, as was she, that all life was fleeting, and not all folk were as fortunate as the elves? One could not know it by their laughter.

  In the end she begged off after dancing with or near lord Alavar for more than an hour, saying that she had to rest. Neither Vallyn nor Kellius nor Renar paid any heed to her warning look. Drelm alone stood ready, and nodded once to her. She understood that he would take care of ushering the others away, and bowed her head in thanks.

  Alavar himself escorted her to her room. He linked her arm through his own, and the sound of the music receded as they strolled from the place.

  "While the guest accommodations are quite fine," Alavar said, "my own quarters are more aesthetically pleasing. If it is your wish, I would share them with you this night."

  He was a fine-featured man, and it had been long since she had shared a night with another. She met his eyes, and the passion she saw directed at herself pleased her. But she did not answer.

  "You do not have to remain alone and apart, Elyana. You can learn our ways. You have already found happiness here; it comes easily to elves among their own folk."

  She shook her head, for she knew that it was not true, even if he believed it.

  "What do you fear, my lovely one?"

  She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek. He blinked, startled. Did elves not court one another that way? She raised a finger to his own lips, noting the pale band of flesh where her ring had sat. "This is not the night, Alavar. I do not know how long my friend can last. I must rise early, and make haste so that we may return to him in time."

  He took her hand and gently squeezed it, bowing his head. He led her on down another corridor, and she found herself before an opening hung with gossamer fabric.

  "Your room, lovely lady." He bowed and pressed his lips to the back of her hand. "I very much enjoyed your company this night."

  "And I yours."

  He bowed to her, and she curtsied formally to him.

  "I look forward to seeing you in the morning."

  "Likewise," she said, which prompted a merry laugh from him.

  "I so enjoy your manner of speech, Elyana," he said, then bowed again. "May you rest well."

  "And you," she replied, a little confused, then turned to part the fabric door before she could give him further cause for amusement.

  She thought that she'd handled herself well, and felt a twinge of
discomfort that she had still presented herself, somehow, as uncouth or unpolished. The mattress was slender, soft, and immeasurably comfortable. Yet it was a long while before she felt at ease, even after she closed her eyes.

  Elyana woke in dim light before dawn. A morning dove called softly, and somewhere far away a lone piper played a melancholy melody. Elyana discovered her freshly mended garments folded neatly just inside the door, and equipped herself. She'd heard Drelm's deep voice thanking an elven escort last night, after she had lain down, and this morning she heard him knocking into something and groaning in his own quarters across from her. They stepped into the hallway at about the same time.

  "Good morrow, Captain."

  "And to you, Lady."

  "Let's rouse the others."

  That proved more easily said than accomplished, for neither Vallyn, Kellius, nor Renar lay in the rooms set aside for them. Drelm scowled at this discovery.

  "They promised they would follow shortly," he said with a growl.

  "You believed them?"

  Drelm actually looked away with chagrin. "I thought the bard old enough to know better. And I could hardly command the young baron."

  Elyana sighed. "What about Kellius?"

  Drelm hesitated a moment, then straightened and threw back his shoulders, as though he were a rank-and-file soldier addressing an officer. "I lost sight of him."

  She groaned.

  "I am sorry, Lady," Drelm said.

  "Be at ease," she told him. How could a half-orc compete with the allure of elven wine? And elven women, for that matter.

  "They should all know better." Drelm furrowed his brows. "And I am ashamed at the young lord. Does he forget his duty to his father? Do they all forget their duty to the baron?"

  "We will send word for them while we eat," Elyana said smoothly, "and then saddle the horses."

  An elven youngster awaited them on the patio outside their rooms, and he presented them with freshly cooked eggs and a selection of pastries and nuts. It was too early in the season yet for fresh fruits.