Shadowfall g-1

by James Clemens

  A tree ahead of them burst, engulfed in a spiral of flame.

  Tylar lifted the quickened blade and pointed his arm.

  Though set by their own hand, the fires drove them forward.

  They had no choice.

  She remembered Eylan’s tale of prophecy and ordainment. Perhaps they never had a choice.

  She stared at Tylar. Traitor, godslayer, sword-bearer. But all she could see was the man she once loved… perhaps still loved. She could not deny this last. The heart did not forget.

  Still, she remembered the broken man, the smoky daemon. Tylar was no longer the knight she knew. He had been broken and re-formed. Who was he now? Did she have the strength to find out? Would they ever have the time?

  The woods opened before them. More of the castillion appeared in bits and pieces. The rain fell harder.

  Reaching the edge of the myrrwood, they saw what lay ahead of them. Torches sputtered throughout the Eldergarden, illuminating brighter pools in the stormy gloom and shivering shadows. The far side of the Eldergarden stirred with dark shapes. Some wore the livery of the castillion guard, but such finery was shredded and torn. Most were naked to the rain.

  Ilk-beasts.

  All of them.

  “He’s transformed the entire guard,” Gerrod said. “Even the house staff.”

  “An ilk legion,” Rogger mumbled.

  Tylar faced them with his one sword. Kathryn read the despair in his eyes. His daemon was useless against the writhing throng that awaited them. His sword could strike only once before it vanished back to shadow and light. And in the thick of battle, there would be no chance to replenish the blade. How could Tylar even defend the god-child?

  Still, behind the despair, a weary determination shone through.

  Then the skies over the castillion opened, the clouds parted. A dark shape lowered from the storm, aglow with soft Grace. Then another appeared… and another. Flippercrafts. A half dozen dropped around the towers of castillion. Lightning crackled along the clouds, highlighting the flags mounted atop each ship.

  Kathryn stared and knew all was lost.

  The flags were black. Each emblem crimson.

  The Fiery Cross.

  Kathryn pictured the slain young knight on the stone floor. His heart cut out, his blood spilled. She smelled again the burned bones of the charnel pit.

  Lit by the fires below, the belly of each flippercraft opened above the towers. Ropes tumbled out, uncoiling, snaking to battlements and terraces.

  Figures flowed down the ropes, ravens in a storm.

  “Tashijan must have been summoned,” Gerrod said.

  Kathryn slowly nodded.

  And the Fiery Cross answered.

  24

  FALL FROM ON HIGH

  The six flippercrafts emptied over the towers and battlements. Shadowknights flew down scores of ropes, dropping to stations throughout the castillion and grounds.

  Tylar lost count of the number. Over two hundred.

  “The Fiery Cross has come to defend Chrism,” Gerrod said.

  Lightning crackled in a mighty arc across the belly of the clouds, threatening the airships. It was foolhardy to ride a lightning storm. But such was the determination of Tashijan.

  The winds gusted harder. Rain pelted like hail. One flippercraft brushed too near a tower. Starboard skimmer paddles snapped, sheared away. The ship hove up on its side, fighting for balance.

  The damaged flippercraft swung away from the castillion-toward them. It wobbled. A pair of unlucky knights fell from the dangling ropes, jostled loose by the sudden canting. The two plummeted into the gardens, wings of shadow billowing out. They disappeared, their fates unknown.

  The ship fared no better, dropping swiftly. It belly crashed through an old garden wall. The cracking splinter of wood sounded like thunder.

  “Seems a bad day for flippercrafts,” Rogger mumbled at Tylar’s side.

  The ship skidded between their party and the castillion, rolled half on its side, port aeroskimmers high. Bluish fires spat up from the stern end. Rain turned to steam, shrouding the craft.

  But not enough to hide the rush of knights and crew escaping the ship.

  Behind Tylar, another of the myrrwood trees erupted, gouting flames high. The heat rolled over them. Too near. Fiery branches rained down around them and out into the main gardens.

  They had to move or be burned.

  “This way,” Tylar said and led them from the flaming forest. “Stay low.”

  “Where are we going?” Rogger asked as they headed into the gardens.

  “To the stoved ship,” Tylar said. “We’re too few. We need to convince those others to aid us.”

  “And how are you going to do that?” the thief asked. “Your face isn’t that pretty.”

  Tylar nodded to Kathryn. “She’s still castellan of Tashijan, second only to Argent. Shaken up, the few knights here may listen to her.” He lifted his sword. “And if they don’t, we have this.”

  Rogger shrugged. “Don’t mind me if I hide behind you, then.”

  Tylar took the thief’s words to heart. Their chances were poor.

  The group marched through the gardens, trudging a direct route through bushes and flower patches. The rain continued to pour, turning dirt to mud. The crashed flippercraft towered ahead of them.

  Tylar stopped by a low stone fence. There was no reason to risk all. “Everyone else stay hidden here. Kathryn and I will go forward alone.”

  No one objected. Only Eylan met his gaze.

  “Keep the others safe,” Tylar said to her, letting his concern for them ring clear. “That will serve us all best.”

  Eylan glanced to the two girls, then nodded. The others had already sunk down and leaned against the wall, seeking some shelter from the wind and rain.

  Tylar glanced to Kathryn. She nodded her readiness.

  They set off down a gravel path, bordered by hedges and pocked with dancing pools of rainwater. They moved swiftly, falling into an easy rhythm, as if this were any rainy night and they were returning from some engagement together. Still, Kathryn fingered her diadem, the symbol of her station. It might be all that stood between them and a sword through the heart.

  She glanced to Tylar, eyes shining with powers drawn from the shadows. There were words behind that gaze.

  Tylar feared for them to be spoken aloud and turned away.

  He gripped his sword. Its hilt remained warm, flowing to fit his fingers, throbbing slightly under his palm like a heartbeat. He stared down at it. What was he carrying? What was this Godsword?

  Lightning crackled brilliantly, drawing his attention. The gardens flashed in stark silver. Darkness shifted. A shadowy shape rose, as if from the path itself, blocking them. A sword threatened.

  “Hold!” Kathryn boomed out.

  Tylar jumped, surprised at her firm authority.

  The knight’s sword lowered slightly.

  “I am Castellan Vail,” she continued, not letting the other collect himself. “Take me to your foreknight or whoever’s in charge.”

  The sword lowered farther.

  But before more could be managed, a deep growl erupted from the left. Something huge ripped through a thorny tangle of elderwytch.

  Ilk-beast.

  Tylar flew back, sword ready.

  It crashed through the neighboring hedgerow, thrusting right through it, hardly slowing. Nothing could be discerned but its dark muscled bulk.

  Tylar lunged out with his sword. No matter its size, the Godsword would surely kill it. But before he could strike, a clang of steel knocked his sword high.

  Caught by surprise, Tylar stumbled.

  Lightning burst overhead, revealing the beast, limned in silver. It was a steaming, slavering monster-but a familiar monster.

  “Barrin!” Kathryn called.

  The bullhound skidded to a stop, paws sliding in the mud. Its tongue, as wide as a hearthside rug, lolled out. Its rear end wiggled with all the enthusiasm of its stumped tail.
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  The knight who had blocked Tylar’s sword shed his shadows. He reached to his masklin and let it drop.

  “Krevan,” Tylar said, relieved.

  The other knight on the path stepped nearer. It was Krevan’s right-hand man, the older knight, Corram.

  Kathryn joined them. “I don’t understand.”

  “Come see,” Krevan said.

  He walked them through the ruined hedge. The view opened again. The smoking flippercraft was a mountain to the right, but an arrow’s shot ahead rose the castillion. Its battlements still glowed with torches, as did the terraces and windows. It blazed in the stormy gloom.

  In the bright illumination, Shadowknights swept along parapets and flew from terraces down to the garden grounds. The dark wave struck the mass of ilk-beasts in the gardens. Wails and shrieks erupted. A pitched battle began.

  “More knights still come by windmares,” Krevan assured them. He turned to Tylar. “We come to aid the godslayer.”

  “How… the Warden… the Fiery Cross…?” Kathryn seemed unable to rein in her thoughts. She waved at the other flippercrafts and their flags.

  Tylar frowned, no less confused.

  “Warden Fields was convinced to listen,” Krevan said. The knight lifted his sword, Serpentfang. “Even someone as well regarded as Argent ser Fields is no match for the Raven Knight returned.” This last was spoken sourly.

  Tylar stared up at the flippercrafts. Krevan must have used his notoriety to sway Tashijan to his cause. There must certainly be more story to tell, but it would have to wait.

  On the far side of the gardens, screams pierced the low thunder, rising from both beast and knight.

  “While we were flying here, a raven arrived from Lord Chrism,” Krevan said. “He warned of a curse that had transformed his troops into monstrous beasts. He claimed the guards were still loyal. Only their appearances had been altered by the curse. A curse placed upon him by the godslayer… and some daemon child.”

  “No daemon,” a voice said behind them. Rogger stepped out of hiding. Plainly the thief had been trailing after them, abandoning his hiding place. He waved an arm, and the others appeared, too.

  Tylar frowned at them all.

  Rogger placed an arm around Dart. “She’s more like a god, actually. A very tiny god.”

  Dart stared, gaping at the massive bullhound. It looked capable of swallowing her in one bite.

  Krevan’s brow bunched. He studied the group for answers.

  “There’s too much to tell,” Tylar said. “First, we must reach Chrism.”

  “I have enough men and women to form a phalanx,” Krevan said. “We might be able to forge a path to the castillion.”

  “Gather them,” Tylar ordered.

  Krevan led them back to the flippercraft, trailed by the bullhound.

  They met Lorr on the way back. The tracker bowed his head toward Kathryn. “The big kank still has a nose for you,” Lorr said, cuffing Barrin by the ear. “As soon as he got ground under his paws, he was mewling and drooling. I knew he had your scent.”

  Krevan spoke. “When we saw the fire spreading in the woods, we figured you all were somewhere in the gardens. We had planned to land after off-loading our men and search for your group.”

  “We landed a bit harder than we intended,” Corram said.

  They reached the stoved flippercraft. Krevan sent Corram to gather a dozen knights. A sharp cry erupted from the lee side of the grounded ship.

  Tylar turned.

  A shape flew at him. He barely got his sword out of the way in time.

  Delia threw her arms around him, hugging tight, all but climbing atop him. “Tylar… I knew you still lived.”

  He carefully returned her embrace. He felt the tears on his neck.. and her lips. Tylar met Kathryn’s eyes over the young woman’s shoulder. She glanced away.

  Delia finally seemed to collect herself, shedding from him like water. She smoothed her cloak and backed away. “I’m sorry…”

  Tylar had no words. He still felt her lips on his neck, the heat of her tears. He was saved from responding to Delia’s apology or Kathryn’s silence by Corram’s arrival with a shadowed mass of knights.

  “The weakest flank is off by the southeast tower,” Corram said. “We may be able to break through there to the keep.”

  Tylar prayed he was right. He stared across at the others. “There’s no need for all to go. The remaining knights here can protect you.” It was no surprise that Eylan stepped forward. The Wyr-mistress had an interest in his surviving… or at least part of him.

  Rogger followed her. He pointed to a bare spot under his elbow, among the branded sigils of the gods. “I still have Chrism’s sigil to collect.”

  Kathryn joined them. “Tashijan must be represented.”

  “As should the Council of Masters,” Gerrod said, stepping up. “And I know the castillion well. It’s easy to get lost.”

  The last stood alone, arms tight around her chest, trembling. “The sword may need to be replenished,” Dart said.

  Tylar knelt down to meet her eye. “Brave words, but it’s best you and your friend stay here.”

  “Mayhap we’ll need her,” Rogger said. “That sword of yours might need a bit more blood.”

  He shook his head. “No. It’s risky enough to bring the sword near Chrism. If something goes wrong, I won’t hand him the girl, too.” He stared across the group. “I have Meeryn’s Grace and daemon. You have your swords and shadows. That will have to do until we reach Chrism. If I can’t take him out in the first stroke of the sword, I doubt I’ll ever have a chance for a second.”

  Rogger slowly nodded.

  “Dart stays here,” Tylar said. With the matter settled, he turned to Delia and Lorr. “Keep the girls safe. No harm can befall them.”

  They both nodded.

  Dart fell back with the others. Laurelle wrapped her in an embrace. They had seen too much horror. Tylar prayed it would end now.

  He faced his knights and companions. “Let nothing stop us.”

  Dart watched them set off, sheltered in the lee of the crashed ship. Its fires had been put out. For the moment, it offered security. But Dart knew how tentative such safety could be.

  Across the way, the knights formed a wedge of shadow and sword. The godslayer and the others sheltered between, ready to aid with dagger and blade. They moved swiftly away, a black arrow sweeping low across the gardens, skirting ponds and walls, aiming for the southeast tower.

  She followed their strike into the flank of the besieged ilk-beast legion. All that could be discerned were a few flashes of silver, like lightning on the ground.

  The muzzled man, plainly a wyld tracker from his leather and double belts of knives and daggers, drew alongside Dart. He held something out for her. It was a spyglass. He had a second for Laurelle.

  Laurelle shook her head, backing up a step.

  Dart took the glass and raised it to her eye. She wanted to watch. It took a moment to center on the fighting. Though drawn closer to the battle, it was still difficult for her to see. Shadows obscured detail as knight fought beast with blade and darkness. She was surprised to hear words whisper at her ear. She heard Tylar’s voice ring out clearly.

  “Make for the terrace! We’ll hold them there, then at the door!” Screams and shrieks drowned the rest.

  Dart lowered the glass to study it. The din of battle diminished.

  “Air blessed,” Tracker Lorr said. “The lens brings both sight and sound closer. Great for hunting dark woods.”

  Dart nodded, lifting the glass again.

  The woman who had hugged Tylar earlier joined them. Lorr turned to her. “This child here is not much older than you were, Delia, when your father sent you away.”

  “He may regret that now,” she answered. “The soothmancers will be running their bloody hands over him for days before they’re done with him.”

  Dart followed none of this. Instead, she concentrated on the fighting. Sounds again reached her. S
trangled cries, death rattles, and the clash of steel. But it appeared Tylar and the others had broken through the ranks. A clutch of knights burst from the writhing bulk of ilk-beasts, flying up the steps to the terraces below the southeast tower. They were a ragged bunch compared to the orderly wedge of before-but they had escaped. The group reached the door.

  “Krevan!”Tylar again shouted. “Hold here! Let none pass!”

  The party filtered through the door, leaving behind a knot of shadows at the threshold.

  The others vanished away.

  “They’re inside,” Lorr said.

  Dart glanced to him, lowering her spyglass. The tracker had watched without the need of a lens.

  The woman Delia stared, too, but Dart sensed she watched more with her heart than her eyes. Her embrace with Tylar had been a close one.

  “I expect the castillion has been emptied out,” Lorr said to Delia. “They’ll make for the High Wing.”

  Dart lifted her glass again. She searched the castillion. She sought out the centermost tower, the one over the river.

  The High Wing.

  Dart wondered what had befallen the other Hands: the rotund Master Pliny, the diminutive Master Munchcryden, the twins Master Fairland and Mistress Tre. Not to mention Matron Shashyl. Had they all been ilked? Were they among the legion?

  She heard the cries of the beastly army, punctuated by racking booms of thunder. The storm fell worse atop the castillion. Rains spattered into their shelter now, whipped up by growing winds.

  The flippercrafts were forced to retreat, drifting away to settle in neighboring fields or elsewhere in the Eldergarden. The storm drove them to ground.

  Droplets struck her lens, sparkling and watering her view of the highest tower of Tashijan.

  Still, a voice reached her, dreadful and familiar. “The godslayer comes with the sword,” Mistress Naff said.

  “You know what you must do.” The voice still sounded as warm as sun-baked loam. It invited one to listen. It reminded Dart of when she first met Chrism, here in the same gardens, mistaking him for a groundskeep. And though she had witnessed it with her own eyes, she could not balance that memory with what had transpired off in the myrrwood. “Is all in readiness to welcome the godslayer?”