The Name Of The Sword (Book 4)

by J. L. Doty

  Morgin’s sword stuck in the jackal’s spine and he lost a precious moment tearing it free. He swung it around at the second jackal, conscious that the third remained unchallenged at his back. His sword crunched into the side of the second jackal’s head as he saw the flash of an arrow streaking toward his allies.

  He spun away from the two jackals he’d killed just as the third stepped out from behind his tree and swung a sword in a flat arc. Morgin ducked beneath it, stepped into a shadow, danced among the shadows while the jackal slashed his blade about blindly. Morgin stepped out of a shadow behind the dog, lunged forward and buried his blade in the jackal’s back.

  The jackal grunted and stumbled forward, sliding off Morgin’s sword. It turned about and faced Morgin, stood there swaying from side-to-side, its tongue hanging limply out the side of its muzzle. Then the light of life left its eyes and it slumped to the ground.

  No more jackals came at Morgin, and the other side of the track was silent so he concluded Mortiss had done her job. But a few hundred paces distant a jackal howled out a cry that must have carried for leagues. One of them had gotten away to warn the others.

  Morgin bent down and wiped his sword on the jackal warrior’s tunic, then walked out into the track. Rafaellen and three of his men were standing over the body of one of their companions, the shaft of an arrow protruding from his chest.

  Mortiss walked up to them still wrapped in shadow, and only then did Morgin realize he hadn’t extinguished his shadowmagic; he quickly did so. One of the soldiers looked at Mortiss, then at Morgin. He stepped back and said, “Devil horse . . . devil horseman.” He finished by making a sign with his fingers, a useless symbol that peasants believed would protect them from evil.

  ••••

  JohnEngine reined in his horse and looked carefully at the Penda border patrol. They were a good five hundred paces out, but even at that distance he saw that they had doubled their numbers—not a good sign. That could force him and Brandon to double theirs. They needed parity on the border, a careful balance that discouraged ill-thought action.

  The Pendas rode forward and halted about two hundred paces from the border, a winding creek that sliced through the flat fields of the western Elhiyne lands. It was no coincidence that two hundred paces was just within bow shot of the border. The Penda lieutenant deployed his men in a skirmish line, with archers on the flanks, and only then did he ride forward.

  JohnEngine had no choice but to respond in kind. He arrayed his men carefully at a like distance from the border, though they were outnumbered two to one. And when he rode forward to meet the Penda lieutenant his horse sensed his unease, and danced a bit from side-to-side with skittishness.

  When JohnEngine recognized Perrinsall, the tension in his shoulders eased a bit. The Penda lieutenant was a reasonable man, not a hot-head like Lewendis. With about 20 paces separating them, Perrinsall nodded politely and said, “Greetings, Lord JohnEngine.”

  JohnEngine heard strain in his voice that had not been there the last time they’d met. “Lord Perrinsall. I hope all is well.”

  Perrinsall shrugged, obviously uncomfortable with the situation. “Tell Alcoa we caught his pig thief and stretched his neck beneath a tree.”

  JohnEngine said, “We’d have preferred to stretch his neck under an Elhiyne tree.”

  “I know,” Perrinsall said. “But he tried to steal some Penda pigs, so BlakeDown ordered his execution then and there.”

  Clearly, Perrinsall had chosen to give JohnEngine a carefully edited version of the incident. “Well, as long as someone hung the bastard.”

  “Trust me, he’ll not be stealing any more pigs.”

  JohnEngine knew he must ask the next question carefully. “May I ask why you’ve doubled the men in your patrol?”

  Perrinsall grimaced. “Orders from Lord BlakeDown.”

  A terse, simple answer, without elaboration. Perrinsall likely had no further details upon which to elaborate. “Well I thank you for hanging the thief. Good day, Lord Perrinsall.”

  “Good day, Lord JohnEngine.”

  As JohnEngine rode back to his men he considered the situation carefully. It would not do to have such a discrepancy between the size of the Penda patrols and the Elhiyne. That alone might encourage a hot-head like Lewendis to act rashly, and start a war that none of them wanted. As a matter of caution he and Brandon would have to double the size of their own patrols.

  ••••

  Rhianne’s suite consisted of five rooms on the second floor of Castle Decouix. She had a sitting room in which to entertain guests, a bedroom and a bathing chamber, with a smaller, second bedroom in which two of her handmaidens slept. That allowed them to be close at hand should she need anything, even in the middle of night. It also allowed them to watch her closely, day and night. The sitting room opened into an outer foyer meant to provide privacy to the rest of the rooms. Any potential guest who knocked on the outer door would be greeted by one of her handmaidens, who would then find Rhianne and privately tell her who had come to visit, and Rhianne could then choose to see or not see the person. At least, that was how it was supposed to work.

  A set of doors in the sitting room opened onto an outer balcony that overlooked the castle yard. It was high enough to see beyond the castle walls, and the castle had been built on a hill in the center of the city. So during rare moments when not forced to endure Valso’s company, if the weather was good Rhianne enjoyed standing there, watching the inhabitants of Durin going about their daily business. The distance was far too great for her to make out fine details, but the sun warmed her nicely, and she could fantasize about being free to go about her own errands and chores, wending her way through the crowded streets below.

  Down below a bit of movement caught her attention, a noblewoman wearing a hooded cloak walking at an unhurried pace across the inner bailey. She reached the far side and walked up the steps to an entrance in one of the towers. She paused there, turned about, and though her features were hidden by the shadows beneath her hood, she seemed to be looking Rhianne’s way. Then she reached up and casually pulled the hood back. Rhianne recognized Valso’s sister, Haleen, the Mad Whore as Valso had dubbed her. She looked at Rhianne for a moment, then turned and stepped through the entrance into the tower.

  A strange woman, touched by madness, Rhianne put her out of her mind. But on this day she could not put Xenya et Vodah out of her thoughts.

  Her new dresses had not arrived. The seamstress made one excuse after another for a series of delays, but Rhianne soon realized the woman was operating under orders from the palace, and would delay the dresses indefinitely. Valso wanted his lovely prisoner looking her best.

  Rhianne had a growing sense of her own power, and like most strong witches she could perceive, to a limited extent, the level of power in others. But one had to be careful about taking that at face value, for many of the strongest developed the ability to mask their power and appear weaker if they chose. Living among her enemies, she had decided to be prudent, and now allowed others to see only a hint of her true capabilities; she assumed that most of those about her did the same. However, even with that uncertainty she was fairly confident she could draw more power than anyone else in Durin, except for Valso, and maybe Carsaris.

  Like everyone else, Valso masked his capabilities, but in tiny moments of distraction—as when he looked at her breasts hungrily—Rhianne had glimpsed a level of ability in him far beyond anything humanly possible.

  Strong compulsion spells twisted the heart as well as the mind until the victim could no longer distinguish between her own thoughts and desires, and those manufactured for her. They frequently left the unwitting permanently warped beyond healing, and, as with Xenya, haunted by memories of acts willingly performed. It was not uncommon for the target of such a spell to find release only in suicide.

  For that reason resistance to compulsion spells was included in the basic defenses taught to young wizards and witches. After Xenya’s visit Rhianne
had concocted a charm that would alert her to any compulsion laid upon her, and another to help her resist it. But would they work against someone as powerful as Valso? Or would she seek his embrace willingly, completely oblivious to her own revulsion of the man?

  “It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?”

  At the sound of Valso’s voice Rhianne gasped and jumped. She spun about and found him standing on the balcony only a pace behind her. She’d already learned that the protocol of being properly announced by one of her handmaidens didn’t apply to His Majesty. But the way he moved so silently through her rooms unnerved her.

  “Jumpy, aren’t we?” he said.

  She thought his eyes flicked momentarily toward her breasts. But then, in her newfound paranoia, she might simply be imagining that. “You startled me,” she said.

  “I should have been more careful.”

  She almost said, Oh no, Your Majesty, think nothing of it. But she was not in the mood for polite banter. Saying nothing, she stepped around him and walked back into her sitting room. She heard him follow her, suspected that she heard him only because he wanted her to. She crossed the room, hoping to put the entire length of it between them. She stopped near the unlit hearth and turned about, relieved to find that he hadn’t dogged her heels all the way across the room.

  He stood just within the room, framed by the doorway to the balcony. Oddly enough, it occurred to her that he was quite handsome. He had dark, almost delicate features, with black hair framing a strong face, and a trim, well-shaped figure, with no lack of muscle to fill his tunic. He now sported a carefully trimmed beard, not a big, bushy trail of curly whiskers like Wylow and BlakeDown, but a thin line of black stubble that traced the edge of his chin. Very much in the latest style, it emphasized the strength of his jawline.

  He asked, “Are you being treated well?”

  “Yes, my lord. I lack for nothing, though there is this seamstress who is rather slow in delivering some dresses I ordered.”

  “I’ll look into that,” he said, walking slowly toward her. His stride had a confidence to it that most men lacked, which added to his attractiveness. He did carry himself with the bearing of a king.

  He stopped in front of her at less than a pace, an intimately close distance, and for some reason that didn’t bother her. His eyes settled on her breasts, and he made no attempt to conceal the hunger in his look. That flattered her a bit.

  He turned to one side and held out his arm. “I must go. Why don’t you see me out?”

  She took his arm and walked beside him, out of the sitting room and through the foyer. Geanna waited for them at the door. The girl opened it and held it for the king.

  Valso stopped, turned toward Rhianne, took her hand and lifted it to his lips. When he kissed it she felt a tingle run through her, and wondered what it might be like for him to truly kiss her, not on her hand, but a hot, passionate kiss on her lips . . . and maybe elsewhere.

  He released her hand, smiled warmly, then stepped through the door.

  The instant the maid closed the door, Rhianne staggered back and bumped into the wall. She couldn’t believe what she’d been thinking, and Xenya’s words came back to her. It would almost be easier if he allowed the obsession spell to possess you afterward . . . permitting you to live in mindless oblivion.

  Geanna looked at her, a knowing smile on her face. And Rhianne thought of the way Valso had smiled just before leaving. At the time she’d thought it a warm and friendly smile, but now she realized it had been a cold smirk of satisfaction.

  The charms she’d prepared had not helped her in the least; the one had not alerted her to Valso’s spell, and the other had not helped her resist it. Stunned, she walked unsteadily back into her sitting room and dropped down onto a couch.

  How could she stop him? She had to assume that Geanna had reported Xenya’s visit, and Valso could easily guess at the topic of their conversation. So in all probability he’d anticipated what she might do to defend herself, and he’d defeated her charms effortlessly.

  She’d have to come up with something more creative, something no one would expect, some surprise that Valso wouldn’t anticipate. But what?

  12

  The Reality of Dream

  While the three soldiers buried their dead companion, Morgin told Rafaellen, “We killed six of them and they killed one of us. They can afford the six and we can’t afford another. And the damn jackals have some sort of magic that makes them invisible to the forest and the shadowwraiths, so we’ll have little warning of another ambush.”

  “Shadowwraiths?” Rafaellen asked.

  “Allies,” he said, “though not the most ordinary of friends.”

  Rafaellen’s frown deepened further, and he said, “You mean the shadow beings.”

  Morgin said, “You’re not going to like this, but please don’t overreact.”

  He looked away from the captain and called out, “Soann’Daeth’Daeye, please show yourself.”

  Hundreds of tiny shadows detached themselves from the canopy of leaves, not one larger than the palm of Morgin’s hand. They fluttered through the air of the forest toward him like butterflies, and when they reached him they swirled about him in a giant, cyclonic maelstrom. Around and around they churned, a cloud of shadows that slowly shrank until it converged into a spot just in front of him. Then one-by-one they joined together and coalesced into the familiar form of the shadowwraith.

  Rafaellen took a fearful step back, a reaction Morgin had anticipated, and the reason he allowed them to learn of his affinity with shadows in bits and pieces.

  Morgin said, “Do not be alarmed, Captain. As I told you, it is an ally.”

  When the wraith had formed completely, it dropped to one knee in front of Morgin and bowed its shapeless head. A whisper of thought brushed across his mind as it said, My king.

  Rafaellen put a hand on the hilt of his sword, but didn’t draw it. “But what kind of an ally?”

  Morgin feared Rafaellen might spook and do something stupid. “I think they’re the defenders of this forest. I’ve run into them time and again . . . in several lives, and they’ve always aided me when they could.”

  Rafaellen maintained his distance and circled the wraith. “Okay, so how might they aid us now?”

  “Did you hear it speak?”

  “I heard nothing.”

  “It would have been merely a thought that brushed through your mind, not a sound for your ears.”

  Rafaellen looked at Morgin suspiciously. “Then I guess I did hear something. Did it call you king?”

  Morgin shrugged. “I am the ShadowLord. I guess that makes me king of shadows.”

  When Rafaellen’s three soldiers saw the wraith they reacted with superstitious distrust, but calmed when Morgin told them, “The wraiths will accompany me, not you. You’ll have nothing to do with them directly.”

  To Rafaellen he said, “You and your men ride about two hundred paces behind me.”

  Rafaellen grimaced and said, “At that distance we could lose you.”

  “Don’t worry about that. The wraiths will be watching you, and if you stray they’ll guide you back on track.”

  Rafaellen looked at Soann’Daeth’Daeye unhappily. “I don’t think we want these things watching us.”

  “These things,” Morgin said, “are as much a part of this forest as the trees and undergrowth. Like it or not, they’ve been watching every move you’ve made since you entered this kingdom.”

  Morgin didn’t feel like arguing the point, so he turned away from the soldier and climbed into Mortiss’ saddle. “I’m protected by my shadows, so I’ll ride ahead, and if I discover another ambush, I’ll send a wraith back to warn you. Hold back and let me take care of them.”

  One of the men asked, “You and the devil horse?”

  Morgin grinned. “Devil horse and devil horseman.” He didn’t wait for a reply, just spurred Mortiss on.

  ••••

  As Morgin rode through the forest he kept
his attention split between the tracks the jackal troop had left, and the trail ahead, and anything that might hide a jackal warrior on either side. Because of that he rode directly beneath the next ambush without realizing it. He was trying to decipher the tracks on the ground when something above him moved, causing a slight rustle of leaves overhead. Again his shadowmagic had saved him.

  He nudged Mortiss forward another 20 paces, amazed at how she could move with such unnatural silence, but then he would never have applied the word natural to Mortiss. He dismounted, summoned a shadowwraith and sent it to warn Rafaellen, to tell him to halt and not advance further. Then he backtracked on foot, and stopped beneath the tree where he now suspected a jackal hid. He waited, counting his own heartbeats, and just short of one hundred he heard a jackal overhead whisper, “Any sign of them yet?”

  In the next tree over, a jackal answered, “No, nothing yet.”

  And in the next, “I ain’t seen nothing either.”

  Morgin waited another ten heartbeats, but no more responses came. So there were three of them, up in three trees, probably archers. The jackal captain knew what he was doing. When Rafaellen and his men came into view, from a safe distance these three would shoot one or two arrows each, then retreat. In just a few such ambushes they could whittle Morgin and his companions down to nothing.

  Morgin crept back to Mortiss and retrieved his bow, strung it, stuck three arrows in the ground in front of him, then squatted down to wait and watch. One of the jackals moved a bit, another adjusted his position, and the third scratched at something. It didn’t take long to identify the location of each of his three opponents.

  He stood, pulled an arrow out of the ground, nocked it, raised, pulled, aimed and released. The jackal grunted as the arrow punched into his back. Morgin shot the other two arrows as rapidly as possible, and dropped all three jackals out of their perches. He found one still alive, so he dispatched it with a sword thrust.