by Ben Hale
“You know where it is?”
“Of course,” he replied, flashing a knowing smile.
He led the way through the secret window and onto the roof. From there, they both used wings to soar across the estate. Shadow passed over the outer wall and descended to a roof, and then an alley. From there he slipped into the rear of a small caravan of merchants. Lorica followed, joining him at the rear of the wagons. The small caravan made their way down the street and then turned, passing the main entrance of the estate.
“Where’s the Raven guildhall?” she asked.
He came to a stop and motioned to the gates. “Right here.”
She frowned. “You jest. We did not spend the night in the attic of the Raven guildhall.”
“How did you like their bath?” he asked innocently.
She scoffed, and then looked to the guards. She’d thought them vigilant the night before, more so than normal noble guards. Their skills could not stop an assassin of the guild, but they had been formidable. She’d also noticed the interior of the noble’s house, its wealth and opulence, as if the owner had as much coin as the duke that controlled the city.
“You let me walk into their bathing chamber,” she said, her tone rigid with anger. “They could have killed me.”
“Then you wouldn’t have been a very good assassin,” he remarked.
He turned and made his way to an expensive inn across the street from the entrance. As Lorica followed, she wrestled with the surge of anger, but oddly recalled the chair he’d subtly cut from beneath the man in the tavern two days past. He’d done the same thing to her, leading her into a game where she did not know the rules.
They ascended the stairs of the inn and he slipped out a window before scaling to the roof. As she joined him, she abruptly caught his throat and slammed him into the chimney. Rather than surprised, his expression was merely irritated.
“This tunic is new.”
“Let’s see how it looks with bloodstains.”
“Those don’t come out,” he lamented. “You should know that as well as I.”
“I don’t like your games,” she said.
“Yes you do,” he said. “Because you haven’t been dwelling on the loss of your sister.”
Her teeth snapped together, not because he was wrong, but because he was right. She’d been so preoccupied with understanding her companion, she hadn’t mourned her fallen kindred. Guilt flared, and then oddly a sense of amusement followed. The ache remained, but it was a shade dimmer than it had been before.
“No games,” she said, removing her hand from his throat.
“No promises.”
She growled and stabbed a finger at him. “Why do you behave like a child?”
“When you’ve lived as long as I have, you learn an obvious lesson. Life is more fun when you decide to have fun.”
“That didn’t rhyme.”
“It wasn’t supposed to.”
He flashed his oh-so-irritating smirk and then stepped around her. Ascending to the top of the roof, he took a seat that afforded a view of the Raven guildhall. Uncertain, Lorica followed, and together they surveyed their target. Then Shadow began to talk, and Lorica listened to his description of the Ravens.
The estate was owned by a minor noble, a man by the name of Dentis. He had a great deal of business in Erathan and was rarely present. Situated just a few blocks from the Duke’s manor, the estate boasted spacious gardens and its own wall, much like that of the neighboring estates.
The Raven’s Guildhall had more guards than neighboring houses, and they were better trained. Although they resembled soldiers, they looked subtly different than those at other noble’s homes—more tattoos, more scars.
“The guards are not soldiers,” she said.
He selected a pair of cookies from a pouch at his side, and then proceeded to eat them both. “The owner claims privacy and employs only those she trusts.”
“Thieves from the Raven’s guild.”
“Indeed.”
“Then who is the Raven?”
“Lady Dentis,” Shadow said. “Or that is what I believe.”
“Does her husband know?”
“She keeps her dealings private from all,” he said.
“Is that praise I hear?”
“Of course,” he replied. “For one who deals in shadows, it’s a pleasure to encounter one skilled in the art of anonymity.”
She realized the description applied to her as well and wondered if he found her attractive. Then he stood and stepped to the balcony, obviously intent on leaving her behind. She rose to her feet.
“Where are you going?”
“Does it matter?” he asked.
“You’re leaving now?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve grown attached.”
“Never,” she said.
He smirked and strode to the edge of the roof. “I know you’re going to try and follow me, but when you fail, meet me back here at midnight.”
“What if I was going to stay here?”
“Were you?”
He grinned at her silence and then dropped off the roof. She darted to the edge and saw him alight on the alley floor as if he’d dropped two feet, not fifty. She shook her head and tried to resist the urge to follow. With a sigh, she dropped into the alley after him, and then pursued him, but he disappeared not a hundred feet away. Even with her considerable skill, she could not find his trail. With a sigh of irritation, she returned to the roof of the inn to watch the Raven guildhall and wonder about her companion.
Chapter 14: The Strange Master
Shadow and Lorica watched the Raven’s home, the days gradually turning into weeks. Shadow frequently grew bored and left, searching the city for something of interest. He always returned to find Lorica annoyed, and she muttered curses about his patience, only serving to make his jaunts more amusing.
They saw no sign of the Raven, or Gendor, but Shadow was confident they would appear. He had stalked enough targets to discover a simple truth—one always returned home. But watching a home could be rather boring, unless one’s companion was an assassin.
Lorica often brooded, obviously thinking of her sister, but there were times she smiled, and he caught glimpses of a sense of humor beneath the desire for revenge. He enjoyed irritating her because it frequently resulted in exasperation, and occasionally a faint smile.
Three weeks after their arrival, Lorica abruptly stood to leave. They’d moved their vantage point several times, and now resided in an upper floor of an expensive inn. She stepped to the door and swung it open.
“Where are you off to?” he asked. She’d never left her post before.
“Does it matter?”
He grinned as his words were hurled back at him, and asked, “What if I follow?”
“Don’t,” she said flatly.
Her voice was filled with warning, but to him it sounded like an invitation. The moment she was gone, he slipped out the window and descended the wall to the street. Her choice of timing was obvious, and the midday sun beat down upon the streets, preventing any shadows.
Lorica slipped into the crowd and wove her way into the heart of Keese, and then the poorer section at the northern end of the crescent shaped city. Shadow kept his distance. Lorica had noticed him before, and he didn’t want to get caught again.
She reached a small hut adjacent to an overgrown garden. Glancing backward, she scanned the empty street and rooftops, failing to notice Shadow sitting on the roof directly above her head. Then she knocked softly, and a moment later the door swung open.
“Lory,” an aged voice said in surprise.
“Sentara,” Lorica said, embracing the woman and then entering. “It’s good to see you.”
“What brings you to my door? How are the wings?”
“Perfect,” she said.
Shadow hung from the roof and peeked through the window. The room was tiny, little more than a bed, a tiny stove, and a door to a second room. With no decorations a
nd dust on the floor, it had the air of a space rarely used.
“Would you like to eat?” the aged woman asked. “We just arrived, but Rune went to fetch supplies.”
Lorica glanced about and seemed to notice the sparse furnishings. “You weren’t already here?”
The woman shook her head. “We were in Erathan, until King Numen and his daughter were kidnapped.”
“When?” she asked. “Who took them?”
“No one knows,” she said. “But guards are searching the country, and I thought it best to depart.”
Lorica seemed to want more, but she shook her head. “I don’t have much time. I need your help.”
The woman’s eyes lit with curiosity. “You came with a question.”
“What can you tell me of the one they call the Hauntress?”
The woman’s smile faded and her features darkened. “A dangerous question.”
“So you know of her?”
“You should go,” the woman said, rising and stepping to the door.
“But Master Sentara—”
“Lory,” the woman said. “I trained you, and so I ask you to trust me on this. Steer clear of the Hauntress.”
“And the fragments?” she asked.
The woman closed the gap in a burst of speed uncharacteristic for one her age. “They are more dangerous than the Hauntress—more dangerous than any threat you have encountered.”
“How do you know them?” Lorica asked.
“A story from another life,” she said.
“Go,” Sentara said, her tone filled with reproach. “And never speak of this again.”
Lorica regarded her for a moment and then sighed. Instead of leaving, she shifted to another topic, and for a moment the two spoke of Rune, the girl that was apparently Sentara’s charge. But the conversation was forced, and Shadow knew Lorica still wanted an answer.
“Lory,” Sentara finally said. “I cannot tell you what you seek. I need you to trust me.”
“I do,” Lorica said, obviously unhappy with the exchange.
Shadow peeked into the window and watched the consternation on the woman’s face. She seemed like she wanted to say more, and then shook her head. She rose and embraced Sentara before stepping to the door.
“It was good to see you.”
“You as well,” Sentara said. “Please give my regards to your sister.”
Lorica’s hand tightened on the door, and when she spoke her voice was quiet. “I will.”
She swung the door open and departed. Shadow eased back onto the roof until she had disappeared into the street. Then he leaned down and examined the old woman with renewed interest.
Sentara had obviously trained Lorica at some point, and probably her sister. She seemed old and harmless, but the glint in her eyes bespoke an unpredictable nature, and Shadow’s curiosity compelled him to remain.
Sentara abruptly she whirled and strode to the door at the rear of the hut. Swinging it open, she entered a small bedchamber. Sentara shook off her cloak and then tossed it onto a hook in the corner. Then she stepped to her bed and lifted the bedpost, flipping a tiny lever.
The floor dropped into the ground, turning into steps that disappeared into darkness. Shadow, his eyes wide with delight, flitted through the door and down the steps before Sentara turned around.
On soft feet, Shadow hurried down the stairs into a large, secret chamber. The room contained a central training circle, as well as a pair of comfortable beds and dozens of blades about the wall. The lights brightened as Sentara descended into view, and Shadow leapt to a large case of swords, ascending to the perch at the top. Hidden in the shadows, he settled in to watch.
Sentara drew her sword and swished it through the air, cutting and slicing imagined foes, the bladework fine enough to be one of the Bladed. Intrigued, he watched her flow through blade routines like they were in her blood, until suddenly she came to a halt. Her chest heaving from the exertion, she flicked the blade as if in irritation.
“Are you going to come down from there?” she asked softly. “Or did you just come to watch?”
Realizing he was caught, Shadow drifted out of the darkness and dropped to the floor. He kept his distance and eyed the evidently dangerous woman, intrigued by her behavior. The woman studied him in turn. She seemed frail and weak, yet held the sword in a hand like granite, the blade never moving. Her eyes, too, betrayed a resolve that could have bent steel.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“You do not already know?” He sniffed as if he expected better.
A scowl appeared on her face and she pointed her sword at his heart. “You are the fragment of Shadow, the mischievous one that should know when he’s met a better.”
“And you’re my better?” Shadow asked.
The woman stepped to the wall and tossed a sword to Shadow. Then she took up a stance and waited. Shadow flicked the sword back and forth, testing its balance, a smile forming on his face. He recalled the first few months after Draeken had fractured, when he’d realized that during the day his magic was all but useless. Elenyr had given him and Mind blades, to which Shadow had complained.
“I already have magic.”
Elenyr shook her head. “You’re capable of more.”
The comment had been an irritant that had driven him to learn the sword, and then other weapons. His frequent bouts with laziness aside, he’d been practicing swordcraft for thousands of years. How hard would it be to defeat an old woman?
“Besting one of your age will hardly be a triumph,” Shadow said.
“If you win, I’ll let you paint my blade whatever color you want.”
Shadow burst into a laugh and glided forward. “Done.”
“But if I win,” she said, bringing him to a halt. “You must answer my question.”
Shadow hesitated, sensing the confidence to the woman’s words. She believed she could best him and wanted to use the wager to withdraw his secrets. Still, the chance to paint her sword was impossible to resist.
“Get ready for a purple sword,” he said, darting in.
He feinted high right and then rotated, bringing his sword at her left side. The woman blocked the blade and stepped in, using her free hand to strike Shadow in the face. He recoiled from the strangely powerful blow.
“Is that the extent of your skill?” she taunted.
Shadow growled and lunged, driving his sword for her chest. At the last moment he halted and flicked the blade toward her leg. Belying her age, the woman leapt into a flip over the flashing weapon and landed on her feet, driving her sword at Shadow. He parried and tossed the sword upward, catching it in a reverse grip before spinning and blocking the next blow. He struck the weapon aside and flipped the blade in his hand, sweeping it across her hair as she ducked and twirled—into his fist. She recoiled, and it was his turn to taunt. She grunted in annoyance and they began to circle, each gauging the other for an opening.
“You’re younger than you look,” he said.
“You have no idea,” she said, her eyes gleaming with amusement.
They came together in a clash of blades, and the ring of steel reverberated in the secret chamber. Shadow allowed himself to be driven backward but curved his path to the rack of weapons. When they reached it, he rolled along the wall, snatching a second blade on his way. With both swords in hand he lunged, swinging one high, one low.
Sentara leapt into a horizontal spin, her boots striking Shadow in the chest. Coming out of the spin, she kicked a sword off the rack, the blade spinning through the air, missing him by inches and plunging into the cabinet on the wall.
Shadow expected her to protest at the second weapon but she did not, and instead continued to fight, whipping her sword across, down and up, blocking his strikes while adding her own. Again forced to retreat, Shadow left a snare on the ground, the darkness catching the woman’s boot.
The shadows were not enough to grip her tightly, but they were enough to cause a stumble. Sentara tripped and went dow
n, and Shadow darted in. But her move was a feint, and she carried her momentum into a roll, rising to bring her sword into his hand, knocking his second blade free. Dismayed, Shadow retreated toward the wall.
Shadow reached the wall and placed his boots on the surface, and ascended backward up the slope, scaling it to the ceiling. The woman smirked at the display and fought the upside-down Shadow, her blade swinging for his head.
“You are not the first shadowmage I’ve known,” she said.
He flipped off the ceiling and landed on the ground, hurling the sword at his opponent. She twisted, and the blade spun past her. When she rotated back he reached for the blade with a thread of shadow, the end forming a hand that allowed him to yank the weapon free. It hurled towards her back. Sentara raised her sword to strike—and then ducked.
Shadow had thought victory in hand, and the sudden sword spinning toward his chest was a surprise. He flinched and managed to catch the blade, but she used the distraction to spin around him, and place her blade on his neck.
“Now,” she said coolly. “The truth. Where is Elenyr?”
“In Herosian, I expect,” he replied, blending the truth with a lie.
“Hunting the krey,” Sentara said.
Hiding his surprise at her knowledge, he asked, “How do you know Elenyr?”
“She was once a friend,” Sentara said, lowering her sword and turning away.
“You have a gift for mystery which I applaud,” Shadow said, and then pointed to her sword. “And a gift with the sword.”
She regarded him for several moments. “It was not my first gift,” she said. “But most considered my first blessing a curse.”
He raised his hands helplessly. “Why speak riddles you know I cannot understand?”
“You’re not the only one that likes to have fun,” she said, her lips twitching. “Now leave. You may return if you like, but I will be gone.”
Shadow couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d known the truth before he’d said a word—and knew a great deal about him and his companions. Still, the mysterious woman was a puzzle he wanted to solve, so he offered an exaggerated bow.
