Shadowfall g-1

by James Clemens

  But the beasts crashed through the naethryn as if the daemon were ordinary woodsmoke. They came out the far side, unharmed. The yellowish fire in their eyes remained just as fierce.

  Gerrod called from across the way as the two parties converged on the door. “Their corrupted Grace shields them! The naethryn’s Grace is a match to their own. It cannot harm them!”

  “Now he tells us,” Rogger griped.

  All around the room, the pack of ilk-beasts took heart from their braver few. They rushed at the party pinned to the walls, with little maneuverability.

  Tylar tried to raise his sword, but his misshapen curl of fingers could not grip it. The sword fell and clanged against the stone floor. He couldn’t defend himself.

  Beasts closed upon them, swamping them.

  Dart shoved Laurelle behind her as the ilk-beast stalked down the hall. “Get to the stairs!”

  “But-”

  “Get Yaellin!” she yelled.

  Dart knew they couldn’t both flee. The beast would be upon them before they could reach the stair. Someone had to hold it off.

  Laurelle must’ve understood this, too. She didn’t argue further and ran down the hall.

  The mottle-skinned beast twitched, watching Laurelle flee. But it did not pursue. There was easier prey. It lowered its head, snarling, revealing a maw of sharp fangs. A slight black pall steamed from its pores, along with the scent of burning blood. Black Grace burned through its flesh.

  Dart sought any weapon, any means to escape. The only objects in the halls were a row of chairs along either wall. Dart had sat in those same chairs as she waited for her purity to be tested. Then, too, she had been terrified.

  Creeping backward, Dart kicked and shoved the chairs into the hallway. But the monster simply bulled through them.

  Distantly, she heard Laurelle’s cry for help. Aid would never reach Dart in time.

  The monster knew this, too-and leaped.

  It flew headlong through the air.

  With no retreat, Dart dove forward.

  Under the beast. Under one of the scattered chairs.

  The beast, ill prepared for such an unexpected move, twisted in midair. Its hindquarters smashed atop the chair. Dart scrambled free as the wooden legs snapped like saplings. She rolled past the creature’s rear.

  The beast thrashed around, kicking and slashing at the tangle of chairs.

  Dart glanced back to the healing chamber. Its door had been slammed closed moments ago. And even if it had not, there was no sanctuary to be found in that room. She heard the shrieks and wails from inside.

  The ilk-beast regained its footing.

  It slunk toward her again, shoving through the chairs. It would not make the same mistake twice. Despite its ravening appearance, its eyes glowed with keen intelligence. Somewhere inside its twisted form was the man who had consumed Chrism’s blood. Both beast and man burned with fury.

  A howling wail escaped its throat.

  Dart felt her knees weaken. She trembled from crown to heel.

  With one last growl, it ran at her, low this time, but bulked at the shoulder. Claws scraped stone.

  Dart stumbled backward, tripped on a broken chair, and fell hard to her backside.

  The beast lunged up, claws raised, fangs bared. It crashed down upon its cowering prey.

  Dart dropped to her back. Her fingers scrabbled for any weapon. Her palm found a shattered chair leg and raised it, braced with both arms now.

  The beast landed on her, impaling itself on her sharpened stave of wood. Through the throat. Blood splashed over Dart. It burned like acid, blinded her eyes.

  But the beast was far from dead. The mortal wound would take time to kill, and the beast intended to take Dart with it.

  It shoved up enough to bring a claw to Dart’s shoulder. Skin tore, muscle, down to bone, pinning her. Dart screamed. Her mouth filled with the blood. She spat and choked, fearing to consume it, fearing she’d become what attacked her.

  Panic fired her arms. The weight, the blood, the hot breath… all brought back a deeper terror. She struggled against the violation.

  No!

  The scream ripped up through her, yelled against all that tormented her, past and present. She shoved her stave deeper. The beast wailed and bucked backward. Its claws tore from her shoulder and she lost her stave.

  The beast snarled and fell upon her again. It raised its muzzle to rip into Dart’s throat.

  Then its left eye exploded with blood and gore.

  The point of an arrow protruded out of the socket.

  Shot from behind.

  The body crashed atop Dart, knocking the last of the wind from her. She kicked and clawed her way from under it, gaining her freedom.

  With her left shoulder on fire, Dart shoved to her feet. Down the hall, she spotted a whirl of shadow turning away.

  With crossbow in hand, Yaellin returned to his defense of the stairs, vanishing down a few steps.

  Laurelle appeared out of the cloak of his shadows. “Hurry, Dart!”

  Dart stumbled past the ilk-beast, then gained her footing. She fled the length of the hall and reached Laurelle.

  “Up!” Yaellin yelled from down a bend in the spiral stairs. Bodies draped the closest steps. “Get to hiding!”

  Laurelle grabbed Dart’s uninjured arm and urged her upward.

  They fled together. Each step jarred Dart’s clawed shoulder and drew hot tears.

  They ran with no plan but to escape, to put as much distance as possible between them and the horrors below.

  A door appeared, blocking the way.

  It wasn’t until then that Dart realized where they had reached.

  The top of the tower.

  The rookery.

  Her feet slowed. Her head shook. “No…”

  “We must hide,” Laurelle said. She grabbed the handle and yanked the door open.

  A flutter of wings sounded inside the dark chamber. The air stung of guano. A few beams of light illuminated the dusty space, but succeeded only in highlighting the darker shadows.

  “Come. We can hide here.”

  Laurelle drew Dart inside. She closed the door behind them.

  Dart could not breathe as they stumbled deeper into the rookery. Eyes shone down from above. Dart searched the floor for blood. She knew the spot. By the back window, on the floor… bare planks, speckled with droppings. How could such horror leave no lasting mark?

  “We’ll be safe here.”

  Dart slowly shook her head. There was no safety to be found here.

  The snick of a thrown latch sounded behind them.

  Dart didn’t need to turn. It was happening all over again. “So we come full circle,” the voice said at the door.

  Laurelle stiffened. “Healer Paltry…”

  Dart slowly turned. The man stalked from the shadows. He bore a long sword in one hand. He carried it deftly. He must have escaped when the fighting first occurred, sneaking out the door and slipping past Yaellin as he defended the stairs, choosing the same place to hide.

  Paltry came forward, fully into the light.

  “Now to put an end to the abomination.”

  Kathryn defended Tylar. She kept her eyes from his broken form. She could not balance the knight from a moment ago with the crippled wreck at her feet. Her heart ached, as if she’d lost Tylar all over again.

  In fury, she stabbed and hacked to keep him safe. The naether daemon had no effect on the ilk-beasts. If anything, it made the fighting more difficult. Their party had to be careful of its shadowy form. While its touch might not harm the corrupted creatures, they had no such protection.

  A slip of her cloak had accidentally brushed through the smoky umbilicus that connected Tylar to his leashed beast. The brief contact sucked all Grace from her, dropping shadows and cloak to her shoulders. All the speed borne of Grace died. It would take time to draw shadows back into her cloak. In the meantime, she felt as if she were fighting in mud.

  Tylar understood the
danger. He bloodied his palms and readied to call back the beast. “To the door,” he urged.

  If nothing else, at least the appearance of the daemon had cleared the beasts blocking the room’s only exit. Gerrod and the Wyr-mistress had already reached the door and held it for them.

  Kathryn hacked the last few steps to join them.

  Gerrod manned the door, his armor stained from head to toe with blood and gore. “Rein in your daemon,” he called to Tylar.

  With a nod, Tylar brought his bloody palms to the black umbilicus. His touch ignited a burst of fire. It raced out from him, consuming the naethryn before it. Wings burned away. Details blurred to smoke. The flash of fire startled the ilk-beasts, buying them all time to slip from the room.

  Tylar waved them through as the fires reached the tip of his daemon’s nose and whipped back again. “Stand clear!”

  The flames raged back toward Tylar.

  He was the last, standing in the doorway. When the fiery wave struck him, he was knocked backward through the door. Eylan caught him and kept him from falling. Gerrod slammed the door.

  Ilk-beasts struck and dug at the planking.

  Gerrod shouldered the door, but the fight rattled the frame.

  Tylar returned. Hale again. He wiped his sweated brow, then jabbed a fingertip on his dagger. “Back,” he warned Gerrod.

  Tylar reached a bloody finger to one of the door’s hinges. A crackle of frost snapped from his touch. The iron took on a bluish cast. He did the same to the other two hinges.

  “Frozen,” Tylar said. He stepped back and waved Gerrod off.

  The ilk-beasts still fought the door, but the hinges refused to bend.

  “I don’t know how long it will hold, but we’d best not wait and see.”

  Tylar led the way down the hall. Kathryn noted the snowy pallor to his features. Though healed again, he was far from hale. A body, even one blessed by a god, had limits that would break it. And Tylar was nearing his end.

  They reached the stairway. Yaellin awaited them. He stood with his back to the curve of the stairs. Two bodies were sprawled on the nearest steps, and a pile blocked the way down.

  “Keep clear,” he warned.

  A crossbow bolt sparked off the stones and ricocheted up the stairwell from below.

  “None dare come closer on foot,” Yaellin said. “But they won’t let us down either.”

  Gerrod stared around the space. “Where are the girls?”

  Dart held her place in the rookery. She watched Paltry stride across the planks. She felt the oddest sense of finality in this moment. As if she were meant to be here. A calmness settled into her, filling corners that had recently been empty.

  The same could not be said for Laurelle. “You… you’d best stay back,” she warned. She clearly wanted to retreat farther into the rookery, but the space was open. No place to hide. The only true escape from here was to plunge through one of the chamber’s many windows.

  Paltry smiled. “The monsters below will either kill your defenders or chase them off. Either way, none will question your guilt… or my killing of you both.”

  Laurelle fell back toward one of the walls. Dart followed, but only three steps.

  Paltry continued. “And once slain, I will lay your bodies at Chrism’s feet. What does it matter if one’s god is corrupted or righteous? In the end, it matters only if one has pleased him or not. From such pleasure, riches will flow.”

  A splatter of guano struck Paltry’s cheek. He flinched, clearly edgy despite his easy words. Still, his sword did not falter. Dart stopped and held her place. She knew where she stood. On these planks, all was ripped from her: her innocence, her safety, her sense of self. Above, the dark rafters glowed with the hundred eyes of the ravens, silent spectators then and now.

  Paltry approached, sword pointed. “Which to kill first? Will it be worse for you, Dart, to see your friend die before you?”

  Dart merely stared. In the silence, she felt a string, previously taut, relaxing inside her. A sense of security braced her.

  She glanced to the planks. She had left here hollow, left a part of herself behind, but now she could reclaim it… with a little help.

  She glanced up to Paltry. He sensed the diamond in her gaze, cold and hard. His footsteps faltered.

  Dart waited for the tightness inside her to fully loosen, then spoke three words. “To me, Pupp.”

  He came through the door, passing like a ghost. He must have finally found a break in the stones, or a place to climb, or a gate. Perhaps he had even backtracked the long path back to the High Wing, then down again… returning to the only home both had known. But ultimately she knew what drew him.

  She reached to her lacerated shoulder. She wet her fingers.

  Blood.

  Pupp raced to her, a shining coal in the darkness. They were one and the same. Blood for blood.

  Paltry stopped his approach, plainly confused by her words, disturbed by her countenance.

  Dart bent to one knee. She had once pondered what she was: girl, god, or monster. For the moment, she made her choice.

  Monster.

  Her bloody fingers touched Pupp. She felt the heat of his flesh. His form grew brighter. She smeared him with her blood and lifted her eyes to Paltry.

  He stared in horror at the figure of flaming bronze, spiked and razor edged. Flames glowed in Pupp’s eyes and lapped from his muzzle.

  Paltry stumbled away.

  Dart waited.

  Finally, Paltry met her gaze.

  Dart did not smile. She said one last word. “Fetch.”

  Tylar heard the scream from a full two flights away. He rushed up the last of the steps, followed by Eylan and Kathryn. Rogger, Gerrod, and Yaellin remained below, plotting some strategy to escape, pinned as they were between ilk-beasts and castillion guards.

  Above, the scream changed pitch into a wail of horror and pain. It was not a child’s scream. It ripped from the throat of a man.

  Ahead a door appeared.

  Tylar rushed to it.

  “Careful,” Kathryn warned. “It could be more ilk-beasts.”

  Tylar’s fingers fought the latch, but it was secured from inside. “Dart! Laurelle!” he called out as the wail died to a moan.

  There was only one last place the girls could be hiding.

  Behind this door.

  Tylar pounded on it.

  A small cry answered, full of horror, but plainly a girl’s voice this time. “We… we’re here.”

  A flutter of footsteps sounded. The latch inside was thrown back. Before Tylar could even touch the door, it was flung wide and the black-haired girl flew out. She collapsed into Tylar’s arms, hugging him tight, clinging, sobbing.

  Inside the dark chamber, plainly a rookery from the smell, a pool of light lit the center. It illuminated the wreck of a body on the floor, torn limb from limb. Blood reflected the light, spreading into a wide lake.

  The source of the illumination climbed from the wreckage of the body. It glowed with a fierce light, standing shorter than a man’s knee. It was bulked and spiked, muzzled and flamed, covered in gore. It seemed to meet Tylar’s gaze. An intelligence shone there, a match to what he saw in the flaming gaze of the naethryn inside him.

  “Pupp…” he said, naming the beast and knowing it to be true.

  It shook its spiky mane, flared brighter for a breath, then vanished away, taking its glow with it. Darkness closed over the center of the room. A hundred ravens suddenly took wing, screaming and flying for all the open windows, leaving shadow behind.

  A second figure stepped out of the deeper gloom. It was the other girl.

  “Dart,” Tylar mumbled.

  She trembled, plainly unable to move farther.

  Tylar passed Laurelle to Kathryn. “Watch her.”

  Unburdened, Tylar hurried into the room. Dart didn’t seem to see him. Her eyes were glazed. Bending down, he took her into his arms and pulled her to his chest. “You’re safe,” he said.

  So
mething like a laugh escaped the child. It was a sound too old for one so young, full of mirthless disbelief. And she was right. They were far from safe.

  Still, she burrowed into him. He felt the tears through his thin shirt. He let her cry, rocking her slightly. He could guess what had happened here. He had noted the shirt on the macerated body. Soaked in blood, the hatching of oak leaf and acorn was still evident in silver thread.

  The healer must have trapped the girls here, threatened them. Dart had defended herself with the only weapon at hand.

  “I… I… killed him.”

  “Hush,” he whispered. “I know you didn’t mean it.”

  She glanced up from his chest. Her eyes reminded Tylar of the gaze of Wyr-lord Bennifren, a babe with ancient eyes. But this was no Grace of longevity. It was simply the gaze of a girl who had seen too much.

  She shook her head. “I wanted him dead. I… I sent Pupp.”

  Tylar remembered her story. Before, Pupp had killed in her defense, coming to her aid unbidden. But this time, Dart must have been more directly involved. Now she was waking to the horror of such a committed act.

  Still, she kept her feet. Her sobbing slowly settled to intermittent quakes. Tylar knew the brutality perpetrated upon her. She might be a godling, but the flesh and heart was that of a young girl. Though she was stricken by the bloodshed, he suspected it also helped return a part of what was stolen from her. Blood for blood.

  “Come,” he said softly. “We must clear from here.”

  She nodded. She kept one hand in his. But her eyes were on his chest. She pointed to the black print there.

  “You also carry something with you,” she said. “I can see it stir.”

  Tylar stared down at the mark. It seemed no more than tattooed flesh. Plainly her eyes saw more than his did. As she could see Pupp, her sight must also allow her to peer more deeply into him. Uncomfortable with that, he shifted his shirt to cover his mark.

  She glanced to his eyes. “Does it make you any less a man?”

  Tylar met her gaze, knowing she wondered the same of herself. He again saw the age behind those young eyes. He knew they deserved an honest answer, rather than one that falsely comforted.