Shadow's Master

by Jon Sprunk

Caim's left elbow buckled, slamming his forehead to the floor. Images flashed through his mind. Of sitting in his mother's lap while his father spun tales in front of a log fire. Of Josey lying beside him on her big feather bed. Of Kit laughing at his misfortunes. He turned his face. She was so close, yet just beyond his reach. Caim groaned as the air was squeezed from his lungs. The power was beyond anything he had ever encountered, stronger than ten Sybelles. Part of him wanted to give up, let it crush him and be done, but another part clung to every tortured breath. As he had done against the black cloud, he pushed back with his will. The pressure above him eased for a moment, and Caim took advantage of the respite to dredge up all his strength. He pushed and thrust himself up to a kneeling position. New strength surged through his veins as he met the Shadow Lord's hooded gaze. He's a man, the same as you. If he can bleed, he can die.

  “You're going to tell me,” Caim said as he got one foot under him, “where she is.”

  Before the Shadow Lord answered, a faint pop reached Caim's ears, and the shadow swordsman, Balaam, appeared beside him. The force pressing down on Caim vanished at once. Swaying slightly, he struggled to his feet. He gripped his suete knife tight, ready for anything.

  “Enach ir thune panthador.” Balaam took off his helmet and tossed it on the floor at the foot of the dais. “I renounce my service to you and your house, Abraxus Thargelia. From this moment forward, I am my own man.”

  The Shadow Lord frowned. “If that is your choice…”

  Balaam flew back as if he'd been slammed by a stone from a catapult. Caim turned, expecting to see the swordsman splattered against a wall, but he lay a few paces behind Kit, flattened to the floor. Caim reacted by instinct, channeling his power into a tight punch. A lance of pure darkness shot across the chamber. The Shadow Lord staggered back and folded his arms across his chest.

  The majordomo opened a portal and jumped through. At the same time, a face in the crowd disappeared, and then another. The Shadow Lord looked around as his court abandoned him in twos and threes. Then he stepped into a patch of shadows beside his throne and vanished.

  But not everyone departed. Caim braced himself as the shadow warriors advanced on silent footsteps. When they got within three paces, Caim attacked. He charged in fast, knife held high, and then dipped down in a slide. The lead shadow warrior spun his spear around as he retreated, but Caim's momentum carried him past the warrior's guard. He punched up, and links of black mail burst apart as the suete's point drove deep into the warrior's diaphragm.

  Caim jumped over the body, flinging shadows behind him as he snatched up his fallen seax knife from the dais steps. The three remaining warriors batted the darknesses aside and rushed toward him. Caim parried a curved sickle from his left, feinted, and darted back with a high-low attack that met a pair of black daggers. The seax gave off blue sparks as it rebounded from the dusky metal. As Caim pressed with a series of quick strikes, the sickle-fighter slipped behind him. Caim focused his powers and hopped to the opposite side of the chamber. Before his enemies could track him, he beckoned to the thousands of shadows lurking along the walls and high ceiling. Their voices chittered as he wrapped his mind around them. When he released his hold, they flew.

  The warriors vanished and appeared around him. At the same instant, the storm struck. The shadow warriors were hurtled back as a whirlwind of darkness tore through them. The sickle fighter slammed into a wall; the collision made a satisfying crackle of breaking bones. The other two disappeared into portals.

  Caim released the shadows, and the whirlwind dispersed. He was battered and torn, leaking blood from several places, but still alive. He jumped back as the dagger fighter appeared to his left and prepared to meet the shadow warrior knife-to-knife, but black steel flashed, and the dagger fighter collapsed to his knees, blood running in spurts down his side as his severed right arm and most of the shoulder joint fell to the floor. Balaam stood behind him, sword held in a low two-handed grip.

  The last shadow warrior arrived behind Balaam and swung a short-hafted poleaxe of black steel at his back. Balaam stepped out of the weapon's path as smooth as a dancer and took off the warrior's head.

  Stomach clenched, Caim ignored the deaths and ran over to Kit. Her eyes fluttered when he touched her face. “Can you hear me?” he asked.

  “Yeah. But you're a little fuzzy.”

  She tried to sit up, but he held her down with a gentle hand. “Take it easy. How do you feel?”

  “Like I got run over by a pack of mules in steel shoes. What happened?”

  “I was going to ask you the same thing. I thought you and Malig were leaving—”

  Kit put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Caim! Malig! He's…We ran into trouble, and he…”

  Caim took her in his arms and let her sob into his chest. Balaam walked over, cleaning his weapon. “You,” Caim called out. “Why did you come back?”

  Balaam dropped the cloth—a ripped cape—he'd been using, but kept his sword in hand. “I have served Lord Abraxus for most of my life. My honor demanded that I leave his service in person.” The ghost of a smile haunted his mouth. “And I had debts of my own to pay.”

  But then his face smoothed. “There are caverns below Erebus. That is where your mother is held.” Balaam pointed, and the outline of a circle glowed beside the throne where the Shadow Lord had disappeared. “That is the way.”

  Caim looked down to Kit. She had stopped crying and seemed content to rest against him. I should take her away and forget about all this. And yet, he couldn't leave without knowing. “Can you take her out of here?”

  Balaam observed them for a long heartbeat. “I must see to my own affairs, but I can take her.”

  Kit placed a hand on his chest. “No, I won't leave you again.”

  He wanted to kiss her, but instead lifted her in his arms. “I'll be right behind you.”

  She smacked him in the chest. “Liar.”

  “Isn't that why you love me?”

  Kit smiled and planted a peck on his chin instead. “Hurry then.”

  Caim handed her to Balaam, who held her awkwardly. Caim started to turn away, but the swordsman stopped him.

  “Wait. Take this.”

  Balaam held out his sword. The black steel shimmered.

  “I…” Caim recalled his father's sword, and how wielding it had made him feel. “I can't accept that.”

  Balaam tossed the sword, and Caim caught it by the hilt. He braced himself for a flood of bloodlust, but felt nothing special. It was just a sword, though extremely light and well-balanced. The edge looked sharp enough to shave with. He sheathed his seax knife.

  “Be careful,” Kit said, her eyes closing.

  Caim stepped back from them and opened a portal in the spot of the glowing marker. Raising the black sword to Balaam in a salute, he stepped through.

  White mist hovered above the plain, obscuring everything beyond the stream, which was swift and turbulent from the recent rain.

  Sitting astride Lightning, Josey looked across the valley floor. The soldiers were set before her. Their helmets and the points of their spears reflected the dull morning light. Damp flags hung limp in the hands of the standard-bearers. The ranks were drawn up differently than last time. Lord General Argentus had been an old-school strategist who followed the traditional methods—infantry had to be deployed a certain way, with archers placed just so, and the pikemen thusly—but Colonel Klovus and Brian were more flexible. The troops were not so spread out as before, but the steep hills on either side of the field protected their flanks. They had no siege weapons this time, and few archers, but a platoon of crossbowmen had survived the last confrontation. They were placed on the slopes of each hill. Josey hoped it was a good tactic, but the troops looked woefully exposed on the bare tors. A priest moved among the men, touching their foreheads as he prayed. His white cloak billowed behind him in the breeze.

  Lightning stamped on the soft ground, and she leaned forward. “Easy, boy. It's all right.”

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nbsp; He calmed down, but Josey's stomach was turning cartwheels. I wish someone would tell me that everything is going to be all right. She touched her belly. Again last night, her officers had urged her to quit the battle and flee south. Josey knew their concern was genuine, especially Brian's, but she couldn't leave now. It was her decision to give battle; she owed it to the men risking their lives to stand with them. And if she should fall, she knew Hubert would defend the realm.

  In the early light of dawn, Brian had stood with her, outlining his plans, but she had interrupted with a question. “What is this place?”

  She saw pieces of stone, too regular to be natural formations, jutting from the ground at the base of their hill.

  “It's the Valley of Seven Arrows,” he replied, gazing with her.

  The name sounded familiar, but she couldn't place it.

  “This is where King Guldrien and his Knights Brethren made their last stand.”

  Josey looked down into the valley again with new eyes as fragments of the epic poem floated through her mind. “‘And anon they stood shoulder to shoulder against the tyrant's charge,’” she quoted.

  “‘Each was pierced through the heart with deathly steel and fell down at his feet,’” Brian finished.

  “This is a place of honor.”

  He smiled. “Not everyone would see it that way.”

  Josey was shaken from her thoughts as a clarion call resounded across the field. It looked as if High Captain Keegan had been correct; the invaders were coming straight at them. Heaven help us.

  The Uthenorians arrived in a great, roiling tide. Like before, they followed no order of battle. Spearmen marched beside men carrying huge axes and swords, even a few wielding hammers on long handles. Their numbers appeared even greater than last time, if that was possible. As Hirsch had said, there was little cover in the valley. The only true obstacle was the creek, but the water was just waist high. The first enemy units plunged into the cold waters without pause. They were halfway across when the vanguard bunched up. Their shouts echoed in the rising mists as blood swirled in the water. It had been Brian's suggestion to plant sharpened stakes in the streambed. An officer called out, and a flight of arrows and bolts sailed high, falling on the enemy. Men collapsed and were dragged away by the swift current, but the reprieve was short-lived as the mass of soldiers surged onward to the shore. The missiles from her troops continued to fall, but they were pitifully meager compared to the number of enemies approaching. As the invaders gained the southern bank, they drove ahead.

  Brian commanded the center of the battle line where the bulk of her infantry was concentrated. He rode back and forth through the ranks, exhorting them to stand firm. The troops readied their weapons. Less than a hundred yards separated the two armies.

  Just as Josey wondered where Hirsch was, the adept rode up. His pants and boots were caked with mud. Leaves and dirt were smeared across his oversized jacket. If possible, his hat looked even sadder and floppier than before.

  He handed her a slim package wrapped in burlap. “Here, lass. I thought you might be missing this.”

  Josey handled the pouch gingerly. “What did you do to it?”

  “Just a little something in case things take a turn for the worst. But keep it out of sight and hope we won't need it.”

  She slid it into a pocket in her riding jacket. “Yes. Let's hope.”

  The enemy rolled toward them like a front of storm clouds, vast and unstoppable. When they came within throwing range, javelins and flying blades flew between the armies. Josey was heartened to see her soldiers get the better of the volley, but her joy was fleeting as the first elements of the two forces clashed. Her soldiers locked shields and dug in their heels, but they couldn't hold back the tide. Holes appeared in her front line and widened to gaping rents through which the enemy poured in. Everywhere Josey looked, her soldiers were falling back, except for the center where Brian stood firm inside a knot of stubborn pikemen. Yet, when he got down from his steed—or was knocked down—that section gave way as well. A sick feeling bubbled in Josey's stomach. She flinched at the screams of the dying and wounded. This was her fault. She wrapped the reins tighter around her hands.

  But then a standard waved back and forth through the rising mists. It bore the green eagle of House Therbold on a golden field. The fighting cleared for a moment, and Josey saw Brian on his feet, waving the standard amid a cluster of her soldiers. To her amazement, they held for a moment against the grinding invader force surrounding them. The moment extended to a full minute, and then another. Bodies piled up around the standard, both enemy and ally alike, but Brian did not falter. Josey's heart pounded. Pain squeezed her fingers, and she looked down to see her hands bound up in loops of Lightning's reins, so tight it cut off her circulation.

  Lightning took a couple steps as she unwound her hands, but Hirsch caught hold of the lead. “Not yet, lass.”

  Josey swallowed her tears. Brian's men held out, but they were isolated in a sea of gray and black. She looked to the eastern hills where the mists were thinning, and saw only a few scrub trees. Where are they?

  Then a sound like distant thunder echoed over the field. Josey held her breath as she saw them: Walthom's light horse charging down the hill. The morning light gleamed on their shields and lances, pennons fluttering in the breeze. The crash of steel and splintering wood as they struck the invading force resounded across the battlefield. Walthom's cavalry pierced deep into the enemy's flank, trampling bodies as they went.

  But the Uthenorians' numbers were too great. Enemy units turned to meet the new threat, more and more with the passing minutes, until Walthom's momentum was blunted. Josey looked to the west and almost missed the charge of the Eregoths.

  High Captain Keegan rode at the tip of the wedge as his men crashed into the enemy from the opposite direction. There was no order or pageantry about the rise and fall of their swords and axes as they clove deep into the invading host. It was slaughter in its purest sense.

  The breath she'd been holding whistled through Josey's teeth as the two opposite forces crushed the enemy flanks and rolled them back. The crossbowmen renewed their barrage on the enemy. If the center held just a little longer…

  “Is there anyone we can send to reinforce Sir Brian's position?” she asked Hirsch.

  He opened his mouth, but a loud explosion scattered his words. A plume of black smoke rose from the battlefield amid rows of soldiers in shredded armor. Josey stood up in the stirrups, her heart thudding in her throat, but there was no sign of Brian. His banner had vanished in the oily cloud. A roar like the ending of the world broke over the valley, and the daylight fled under the rising pall.

  “Down!”

  Hirsch snatched her down by the arm, but she had already seen it. Him. The enemy warlord had crossed the stream. His bodyguard cleared the way before him. Those few soldiers who had held their positions at the front line were smashed aside like cloth dolls, and the warlord rode through their blood.

  “Can you help them?” Josey asked Hirsch.

  But the adept's eyes were closed. His lips moved to a low sound like the purr of a bullfrog.

  “Master Hirsch?” she asked.

  “Shhhhh.” He put a finger to his lips. “He's getting close.”

  Yes, I can see that! And if we don't stop him, all the schemes and tactics in the world won't save us. The warlord waved his gauntleted hand, and another explosion rocked the battlefield, this time closer to her position.

  Remaining still while the explosions walked closer and closer like the footsteps of an invisible giant was the hardest thing Josey had ever done. She wanted to kick her heels into Lightning's sides until the field was far behind. I need to do this. For all who have died today for me, I can at least show that much courage.

  She watched the approaching death with her chin held high. From across the sea of clashing arms, the warlord faced in her direction with his hand out, one finger pointing as if in accusation. The debris from the next explosi
on showered down on Josey's head. She wanted to shake Hirsch as he continued his mantra, but kept her hands locked on the reins, afraid she might scream if she didn't have something to hold onto. Then the adept took off without a word on his nimble steed, leaping over the smoking crater and out of her sight.

  Josey held back for a moment, and then shook the reins. Lightning took off like his namesake. She bent down over his muscled neck, his mane flying in her face, and wondered what in the name of the gods she was doing. But she knew one thing: if her army was destroyed this day, she would go down with her men. She freed one hand to press against her belly. Forgive me, little one. It's not fair. I love you more than you can know, but I must do this.

  She didn't wipe away her tears this time, but let them run down her cheeks as she plunged into the fray.

  Caim emerged from the portal with his knees bent and sword extended, ready to meet an attack. But nothing happened.

  He was surrounded by the rough walls of a cavern, their slopes clad in cascades of white crystal up to an unseen ceiling. The floor was uneven. Stark blue light shone from a low, uneven archway ahead of him. Caim stole through the arch toward the eerie light, and paused at the entrance to a cavern even longer and broader than the throne chamber above. The light came from the center of the floor, where a rich, azure flame rose from a stone urn, throwing deep shadows across the walls and ceiling.

  The Shadow Lord stood with his back to the entrance. He looked smaller, bent and crooked like an old man. Caim focused on an imaginary spot between his enemy's shoulders as he started across the cavern. But halfway to the flaming urn he stopped, his gaze drawn to the wall beyond the Shadow Lord where a cave mouth yawned. A cold dread settled over Caim as he realized it was no cave, but the gateway he had seen in the vision. Utterly black, massive in proportion, it sucked in all the light around it. As soon as he saw it, Caim felt a sharp pang in his head. This was the source of the pulling. All this time he'd been thinking it was his…

  Caim spotted a slim figure immersed in the gateway. She wasn't moving, and at first Caim thought she might be unconscious, but then her eyes sought him out from across the cavern, the same black eyes as from his childhood memories.