The Shadowmage Trilogy (Twilight of Kerberos: The Shadowmage Books)

by Matthew Sprange

  It was little different from Lucius’ expectations. The warmth was the first thing he noticed, as a large fire crackled quietly at the far end of the common room, an elderly grey-haired woman using its heat as she stirred the contents of a wide copper pot. The denizens at various crooked tables scattered before him were obviously local, common in appearance with unkempt clothes and sullen expressions as they nursed their drink. Few seemed to have ordered food beyond bread or biscuits and gravy.

  Three men carried themselves differently though, and they caught Lucius’ thiefes eye immediately. Sitting at a table near the fire, they all had their backs to the wall and were talking in low voices, trying to blend in but not quite managing it. Though none bore weapons or armour, he presumed they were soldiers or mercenaries, warriors of some kind. Two had wide moustaches, as was currently in fashion throughout Pontaine.

  He glanced sideways at Adrianna, and she nodded almost imperceptibly. She had noticed them as well.

  Nodding in friendly greeting to several of the locals that looked up at their entrance, Lucius fixed a smile on his face and walked straight to the open fire, rubbing his hands as if trying to ward off the cold. The woman stirring away at her pot looked up at him, and a flash of fear passed over her face briefly.

  “My husband will be along to see to you in just a minute,” she managed to say. “I can take your wet cloaks and hang them by the fire to dry, if that is your wish.”

  “Lady, nothing could please us more right now,” Lucius said, and he meant it. The aroma of the stew she was stirring washed over him and he suddenly felt very hungry.

  As the woman hung their cloaks, Lucius saw what he presumed was the owner, an old man with at least ten more years on him than his wife, hunched over by age. He appeared from an open doorway at the opposite end of the common room, carrying two mugs that slopped liquid onto the floor with his unsteady gait.

  After laying the mugs down on a table that was taken by locals, he looked up briefly, the movement obviously causing him some pain, to look at Lucius and Adrianna. He started shuffling towards them.

  “If that is the pace everything moves round here, this is going to be a very long night,” Adrianna said.

  Lucius ignored her and smiled in greeting as the man finally reached their table.

  “What will you be wanting?” he asked, his voice neither subservient nor hostile. Lucius guessed that, living in this place, the man had seen his fair share of trouble in the past, and had clearly come to deal with it with apathy.

  “Beer, milk, mead, whatever you’ve got. And some of that delicious stew your good lady wife is cooking, if you would.”

  The man grunted in response and shuffled back to the kitchen. His wife began ladling out bowls of the stew and laid them out before Lucius and Adrianna. The meat was probably from some part of a horse that he had no wish to discover, but the old woman was clearly a cook of some talent. Even Adrianna ate without complaint.

  As he ate, Lucius flickered his gaze over to the three outsiders and, finally, caught the eye of one of them.

  “Nasty weather out there, eh?” he said.

  He received nothing more than a slight incline of the head in response, but Lucius had his way in and he wasn’t going to let the gate close on him. Standing up, Lucius took his mug from the innkeeper who had just arrived back at their table, and then walked past the fire to sit himself at the warriors’ table.

  “I swear, been raining ever since we entered the Territories,” he said.

  All three looked at him then and one frowned. “What do you want, friend?” he asked.

  Lucius shrugged. “We’re all travellers here. Always worth seeing where we have all been, let each other know of any trouble we saw on the road. Can I get you lads a drink?”

  They wanted to say no, they knew they should say no, but as soon as Lucius saw one of them open his mouth and hesitate, he knew he had them. If there was one common uniting factor among fighting men, be they soldiers of Vos, Pontaine or free company mercenaries, it was their singular inability to refuse a drink when offered freely.

  As the drink began to flow, so the looser their lips became. They were duly joined by Adrianna, though her scarred face and stern looks served to keep the men at bay. For his part, Lucius studied the men carefully, though without making it obvious. Two had moustaches, one did not, but he did sport a thin and recent cut to one side of his top lip.

  All three from Pontaine? Lucius wondered, and suddenly had an image in his head of all three trying to disguise themselves but two of them being too proud to shave. It was a thought that almost made him smile, but another idea crossed his mind. Why would a man from Pontaine shave other than to hide where he was from? What were they running from?

  As the conversation flowed, the men claimed to have been escorting a merchant’s wagon from Vos through the Territories but were now out of work, the default position for a sword-for-hire, one joked.

  Lucius narrowed in on that. He had heard the joke before, and it was the kind of thing a mercenary would say. But the accent that spoke it... they were trying to hide it, but the trace of Pontaine in the man’s voice was too thick to cloak completely, especially from someone who lived in Turnitia and had recently been forced to spot the accent when doing business.

  Deserters, then? Lucius thought. If so, he might just have struck rich, as if they had fled from the baron’s encampment, then a few more drinks and a flutter of gold might tell him all he needed to know. On the other hand, here in the Anclas Territories, they might well be simple mercenaries.

  “I hear there is work for swords at the Pontaine camp nearby,” Lucius said, casually enough. The effect on the men seated opposite him was electric, and he saw each had stiffened at the mention of the camp. They looked at one another, almost seeming furtive.

  Looking at each in turn, Lucius decided to push his luck.

  “If you are from that camp, we are on the same side,” he said, lowering his voice.

  “How’s that?” one of the men asked suspiciously.

  “I have been sent by the baron to see what the delay is. And let me make it clear – I am not interested whether you have deserted the camp. Frankly, given where it is, I might have been tempted to do so myself.”

  His attempt at levity fell flat and he saw all three bristle at the mention of desertion. The man lacking a moustache nearly exploded.

  “We are not–” he said, almost shouting before he stopped and checked himself, glancing around to see if any of the locals had taken notice. None seemed to think it wise to trouble themselves with an outsider’s problems.

  “We are not deserters,” the man hissed, still angry.

  Lucius held up a hand to ward off his fury.

  “I meant nothing by it, only that it would be none of my business.” He looked around the common room himself, then leaned forward so his whisper could be heard. Adrianna too leaned in.

  “What has been happening there?” he asked.

  The men looked at one another again, one of them shrugging.

  “You don’t look or sound like Vos,” he said.

  Lucius frowned, puzzled. “What has Vos got to do with anything?”

  The man sighed before answering. “We were at the camp. But we didn’t desert. The whole place was attacked by a Vos army a week ago. We were captured, but everyone else was slaughtered where they stood.”

  Rubbing his chin with his hand, Lucius thought fast.

  “If you were captured, how did you get free?” he asked, and immediately saw that was the wrong question Though two of the soldiers looked furious, one hung his head in shame, which told Lucius all he needed to know.

  “Forget it, not important,” he said. “So, the camp is now in Vos hands?”

  “Just so,” he was answered. “We had set up a fence perimeter and had guards stationed, but they hit us fast and without warning. We rallied for a while, but they were everywhere and half of us were asleep. They also had some powerful wizard on their side,
blasting holes in our ranks before we could respond. It was hopeless. Utterly hopeless. As far as I know, we were the only ones to get out. Everyone else is dead.”

  “Including the wizard Tellmore?” Adrianna asked.

  “Didn’t see him, and you would think he could have defended us against their magic. Figure he must have been killed early on.”

  Lucius decided to change tack. “What did you discover there? Before the attack, I mean.”

  The soldier held his eye for a moment before answering. “Honestly? Not a thing. Some of the soldiers had been drafted in to help with the digging, but all they found was a bunch of sunken corridors and some empty chambers. And the door, of course.”

  “The door?”

  “Big, elaborate thing. We couldn’t open it, and any man who tried was burned away in seconds by magic. I don’t know anything about that, but it was the thing that consumed Lord Tellmore’s attention most. Once we hit that obstacle, I don’t think he ever slept. Just stayed in his tent, chanting, casting spells and writing. His tent was overflowing with scraps of parchment.”

  “But nothing worked,” the clean-shaven soldier cut in. “Time and again he would line men up in front of that door, cast some spell or charm of protection, and bid them open it. Every time, they would be... annihilated would be the term, I think. They were just reduced to ash in seconds.”

  It was Lucius’ turn to glance at Adrianna this time, but he found no answer in her eyes. Just a raw hunger that here, at last, was a solid report on ancient magic. He could almost feel her desire to possess it. That would be a problem to face a little later, though.

  “I need to know exactly where the camp is,” he said.

  The soldiers gave him sensible directions, and he was grateful for them as, lying within a shallow valley, he and Adrianna might have ridden straight past it, knowing no better. He stood and gestured for Adrianna to follow him.

  Before leaving, Lucius turned to regard all three men.

  “I make no judgements on what happened at the camp and, from what I can tell, you are all damn lucky to be alive. Vos soldiers are not known for their temperance,” he said, then fished in his pouch to scatter a handful of coins on the table. “Whether you return to Turnitia or have somewhere in Pontaine to go to, you’ll find the journey much easier if you have good coin on you. And when I return to the baron, I’ll be sure to put in a good word for all of you.”

  As one, they looked up at him, eyebrows raised in surprise. One recovered sooner than his compatriots.

  “Well, bless you, sir,” he said, his gratitude obvious. “If you are heading towards the camp, I wish you the best of luck, but... be careful. I see no reason why the Vos army would have moved on.”

  Lucius nodded his thanks and, taking Adrianna’s arm, headed for the inn’s front door.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE RAIN HAD slackened off with the coming of night, but it gave little comfort to Lucius as he lay on his stomach, peering into the shallow valley where the now Vos-held camp lay. The ground was wet through and it was slowly seeping into his clothing. Adrianna had rolled out her cloak, but he knew she would later regret that when the time came to don it again.

  They had both been grateful for the help the Pontaine soldiers had given them, for they might easily have missed the camp among the rolling hills of the Anclas Territories.

  Their horses they had released some distance away, which had sparked a brief argument with Adrianna. She had not relished the thought of walking any great distance in what she regarded, not without cause he admitted, as a vast wilderness. However, Lucius had been more concerned with the horses giving away their presence to any wandering sentry or scout and, at the end of the day, he was a thief. When the time came to use mounts once more, he was sure the Vos force below them would provide.

  The Vos sentries were plainly apparent as they had approached, silhouetted against the darkening sky, and the Shadowmages had wreathed themselves in magical darkness, blurring their outlines and making themselves virtually invisible in the gloom.

  Such were the skills of all Shadowmages.

  Straining his eyes, Lucius tried to pick out the details of the camp. The Vos force had made sure some areas were well-lit with lanterns and fires, but other parts were shrouded in darkness.

  Closest to them, the camp was mainly filled with tents of obvious Pontaine tailoring, which had been taken by the Vos soldiery for their own use. Spaces were cleared in this area for cooking, rest and toiletry purposes. A few lanterns were scattered about here but the larger fires were concentrated towards the far end of the camp, and the earthworks. Even at this distance, Lucius could make out deep trenches, wide pits and, here and there, the exposed grey of long-buried stone.

  Around the camp, a perimeter wooden fence provided the main line of defence. Lucius estimated it was at least eight feet high; no real obstacle to any competent thief.

  “They’ve been busy,” Lucius said, and turned to look at Adrianna when she did not answer him.

  Through the shadowy waves of her concealing magic, he could make out an expression of concentration on her face, and he began to feel the power of her magic radiate out.

  “Do you see anything?” he asked.

  After a few seconds, Adrianna shuddered and sighed as she relaxed her scrying.

  “The Pontaine men said the Vos force had magic on their side,” she said. “I sense no wizard down there but... There is something strange. Can you feel it?”

  Lucius stared hard down at the camp, trying to visualise the streams of magic that he could see flowing around him wherever he was, but they revealed no disturbance he could see.

  “I do not,” he said at last. “What do you think it is?”

  “We know magic is bound into the ruins to protect them, but this doesn’t feel like that. It is not ancient, patient, waiting. If there were active spells used by the Old Races, believe me, I would sense them from miles away. The ruins seem dead, so perhaps their magics are only tripped by certain actions.”

  “Like trying to open the front door.”

  “Just so. There is something else down there though, something... different. Maybe some ward, or maybe a weapon, enchanted to give its user power.”

  “A charm of protection, perhaps?”

  “No...” Adrianna said, her voice growing vague for a moment. She cursed under her breath as her spell of detection once again failed to give her a clear answer.

  “It is something more powerful,” she said at last. “Something powerful enough to make Pontaine soldiers think the Vos army had a wizard with them.”

  “Perhaps they did, and the wizard was killed,” Lucius said.

  “Unlikely,” Adrianna said. “Wizards trained for battle learn wards as a matter of course and are quite capable of keeping their heads low when swords and arrows start being aimed at them.” She shook her head, as much in frustration as anything else. “I can’t see clearly enough.”

  “Well then. The only way we will ever know is to take a closer look.”

  Whoever was commanding the Vos soldiers had only placed sentries on the rim of the valley. It was a careful enough precaution, as the sentries would likely see anyone approaching and the signals would be seen quickly by those down in the camp, but it meant that, once bypassed, Lucius and Adrianna had a clear passage all the way to the fence line.

  Leading the way, Lucius peeled off to the right to follow the fence, searching for the ideal point to gain entry. He pulled suddenly up short as a terrible stench filled his nostrils. Dead, rotting flesh.

  “God above,” he hissed as Adrianna joined him. They both gathered their cloaks in their hands and held them tight to their faces, trying to block the dreadful stink. Adrianna peered into the darkness, then nudged his arm as she sighted something. Creeping forward, Lucius winced at what he saw.

  Earthen mounds lay in strict rows that stretched away to his left but, directly in front, was a wide, open pit. It was filled with the tangled and maimed bodies
of Pontaine soldiers, the original occupants of the camp who had not managed to escape the carnage like the men they had met in the inn. The Vos invaders had buried their own dead but left their enemies out for the wolves and birds. It was a sign of the greatest disrespect.

  “Animals,” Adrianna said, with some venom in her voice, and that surprised Lucius. He had not thought she could be touched by such earthly matters.

  There was, however, nothing they could do for the dead. Lucius touched her arm to bring her attention back to their task, and they turned away from the charnel pit.

  Returning to the fence line, Lucius continued his search for a point of ingress. He purposefully avoided the bulk of the tents as, while they would provide superb cover for two creeping Shadowmages, he had no wish to be accidentally surprised by a chance Vos soldier walking out of his tent. Instead, he looped round the fence line, stopping when he saw the main, open entrance. That, he knew, would be guarded, so he retraced his steps a short way so they would enter at the edge of the tented area.

  Summoning just a little of his magic, Lucius felt his arms and legs swell with power as he leapt upwards to catch the top of the fence. Throwing himself half over, he reached down an arm for Adrianna, who grabbed it. In one fluid motion, he pulled the woman up and over the fence as if she had been no more than an empty cloth sack. Then, he dropped down on the other side of the camp, crouching next to her to see if anyone had detected their entry.

  It seemed as though no one was in their immediate vicinity, though they could hear the occasional voice caught on the slight breeze, laughter and a few shouted curses as soldiers did what they always do when not under orders or the watchful eyes of sergeants.

  Taking full advantage of the cover provided by tents and the fence line itself, Lucius and Adrianna were little more than dark blurs, fully wreathed in their stealth spells, becoming one with the shadows. Heading towards the excavation site, the tents disappeared and high cover became less frequent. The area was also more brightly lit by larger fires and more numerous lanterns but the flickering shadows provided them with adequate cover as they flitted from earth mound to tool store. After sprinting across a wide open area that had been cleared to allow easy passage to the unearthed ruins, Lucius stopped behind a line of wooden barrels to catch his breath. Wrinkling his nose, he guessed his hiding place was being used to stockpile lantern oil.