Hero in the Shadows

by David Gemmell

  “You really are tired,” she said, hearing the weary contempt in his words. “Why don’t you get some rest?”

  Ustarte awoke and called out to them. Waylander strolled to where the priestess was sitting. Keeva followed him. “How are you feeling?” asked Waylander.

  “Stronger,” she said with a smile, “and not just because of the sleep. Yu Yu Liang has found the Men of Clay.”

  “And?”

  “The Riaj-nor have returned. Already they are marching toward the gateway. Three hundred of them. When they reach it, the power of their swords will seal it for another millennium.” Her smile faded. “But it will be close. The Ipsissimus has been directing a dispersal spell against the gateway for days. If he succeeds and the gateway spell is broken, no force on this world will bring it back.”

  “You have magic,” said Emrin, moving in. “Can you not … cast your own spell against the magicker?”

  “I have very few spells, Emrin. I have a talent for far sight, and once I could move freely between worlds. That power is almost gone. I do not know why. I think it was part of the meld magic that created me, and the magic is fading. But, no I cannot fight the Ipsissimus. We must just hope that the Riaj-nor can save us.”

  Climbing clumsily to her feet, she took Waylander by the arm. “Come, walk with me.”

  They moved away from the group. Behind them Keeva started a small fire, and she and Emrin sat quietly beside it, preparing the hares. Niallad stood up and wandered away into the woods.

  “They tortured Matze Chai,” Ustarte told Waylander. “I only saw glimpses of it. He was extraordinarily brave.”

  “Glimpses?”

  “There is a cloak spell over the magicker and his loa-chai. I cannot see events around them. But I did fasten onto the thoughts of Matze Chai.”

  “He is still alive?” Waylander asked softly.

  “Yes, he lives. There is something else. The loa-chai then healed Matze, bringing him back from the point of death.”

  “So his master could torture him again?”

  “I don’t think so. It was as if the cloak spell parted for a heartbeat and I caught just a glimpse of his thoughts—more an echo of his emotions. He was saddened and sickened by the torture. His healing of Matze Chai was a tiny act of rebellion. It is mysterious. I feel there is some fact we have overlooked. Something vital. It is like a nagging thought just below the level of consciousness.”

  “I have the same feeling,” said Waylander. “It has been bothering me ever since the battle with the demons. I saw the magicker ripped apart. But just before that I saw him falter. His spell was working, and the mist was receding. Then he seemed to lose all confidence. His voice stammered. The mist swept over him. I watched his arm torn from his body. Yet, moments later his voice rang out again, and he conquered the demons.”

  “An Ipsissimus has great power,” said Ustarte.

  “Then why did he lose it for those few heartbeats? And why did he not have his loa-chai with him? Surely that goes against what you told me about a magicker and his loa-chai. The boy is supposed to be Eldicar’s shield.”

  “The boy was with Keeva and Yu Yu at the time,” said Ustarte. “Perhaps when the demons attacked them, Eldicar sensed his peril. That could be why he lost concentration.”

  “It still makes no sense,” insisted Waylander. “He leaves his shield behind, and when the shield is in danger, he gets ripped apart? No. If the loa-chai had been sent against the demons and his master was threatened, it would be understandable. You told me that the master is the one with the real power, and he directs it through his loa-chai. Therefore, if the master was threatened, the link to his servant could be severed, leaving the loa-chai defenseless. But that was not what happened. It was Eldicar who fought the demons.”

  Ustarte considered his words. “He cannot be the loa-chai,” said Ustarte. “You say the boy is around eight years old? No child could summon the power of an Ipsissimus, no matter how gifted. Nor do I believe anyone of that age would radiate such consummate evil.”

  “Beric is a fine boy,” said Niallad, moving out of the darkness. “I like him greatly. There is no evil in him.”

  “I like him, too,” said Waylander, “but something is not right here. Eldicar told me he did not summon the demons to my home. I believed him. He spoke of Deresh Karany.”

  “I know this man,” said Ustarte, her voice cold. “He is vile beyond all imagining. But he is a grown man. I would have sensed it had there been more than one Ipsissimus.” She turned to Niall. “You must pardon my intrusion, but I am reading your thoughts, and I need to see events through your memories. Think back to the night your parents were killed.”

  “I don’t want to do that,” said Niall, backing away.

  “I am sorry,” said Ustarte, “but it is vital.” The young man stood very still. He took a deep breath, and Waylander saw that he was gathering his strength. Then Niall nodded to Ustarte and closed his eyes.

  “Now I see,” whispered Ustarte. “The boy is there. You see him. He is standing alongside the magicker.”

  “Yes, I remember. What point are you making?”

  “Think back. How did he seem to you?”

  “He was just standing there, watching.”

  “Watching the slaughter?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “His face shows no emotion. Not shock, not surprise, not horror?”

  “He is just a child,” said Niall. “He probably didn’t understand what was happening. He is a wonderful boy.”

  Ustarte swung and looked across at Keeva and Emrin. “All of you are smitten by the boy. Even Matze Chai, as he faced torture, could think only good thoughts of Beric. This is not natural, Gray Man,” she said. She returned her gaze to Niallad. “Think back now over all the times you have been with Beric. I need to see the events myself.”

  “It is not that often,” said Niall. “The first time was in the Gray Man’s palace. He and I went to the beach.”

  “What did you do there?”

  “I swam, and Beric sat on the sand.”

  “He did not swim?”

  Niall smiled. “No. I teased him about it and threatened to carry him into the water. I reached down, but he grabbed onto a rock and I could not lift him.”

  “I do not see a rock in your memory,” said Ustarte.

  “There must have been. I almost tore my back trying to prize him away.”

  Ustarte reached out and took Niall by the arm. “Picture his face as well as you can. Look at it closely. I need to see it! Every detail.” She stood very still, and Waylander saw her jerk, as if stung. She backed away from Niall, her eyes wide with fear. “He is not a child,” she whispered. “He has become a meld creature.”

  Waylander moved alongside her. “Tell me!” he said.

  “Your suspicions were correct, Gray Man. Eldicar Manushan is the loa-chai. The one who appears as a child is Deresh Karany—the Ipsissimus.”

  “It cannot be,” whispered Niallad. “You are wrong!”

  “No, Niall. He is radiating a charm spell. All who come close are deceived by it. It is fine protection. Who would suspect a golden-haired and beautiful child?”

  Ustarte walked away, lost in fearful memories. She had crossed a gateway between worlds to escape Deresh Karany’s evil. And now he was here, and all her hopes of victory seemed suddenly frail, as insubstantial as woodsmoke.

  She should have known he would come. She should have guessed it would be in a different form. Deresh Karany had become obsessed with the mysterious magic of the meld. He had realized through Ustarte that the possibilities went far beyond the merely physical. The correct balance could enhance the powers of the mind. Already virtually immortal, Deresh desired more. Conducting increasingly grisly experiments on his hapless captives, he sought the key that would unlock the secrets of the meld.

  Ustarte had become his passion. She shuddered at the memory. He had worked on her endlessly, seeking to find the source of her ability to change form. One
day he had her strapped to a table. Sharp knives opened her flesh, and Deresh removed one of her kidneys, replacing it with a spell-charged organ taken from a failed meld. The pain was indescribable, and only Ustarte’s great strength saved her from madness. As she lay in her cell recovering, she felt the organ stir within her like a living creature. Tendrils slid from it, probing along the muscles of her back and into her lungs. Ustarte went into a terrible spasm. Her life was being drawn from her, and in her panic she threw herself into the change. The creature within her was crushed, but one tiny tendril broke off and fled deep into Ustarte’s skull, nestling against the base of her brain. There it died. Poison seeped from its corpse, hot and burning. Tiger-Ustarte roared furiously, slashing her great paws against the walls of the cell, ripping out great chunks of plaster. Then, as she had with the first poison used on her, Ustarte absorbed it into her system, breaking it down, rendering it harmless. It could no longer kill her, but it did change her.

  When Ustarte awoke, back in her own form, she felt different. Faintly dizzy and nauseous, she had sat on the floor amid the ruins of the furniture torn to shreds by her tiger self. Suddenly her mind opened, and she heard the thoughts of every man and creature within the prison. Simultaneously. The shock made her scream, but she did not hear it. Her mind was full to bursting. Resisting panic, she tried to focus, creating compartments of the mind, which she closed against the tumultuous roar. The most powerful of the thoughts would not be shut out, for they were born of agony.

  And they were coming from Prial. He was being experimented on by two of Deresh Karany’s assistants.

  Anger flooded through Ustarte, and a pulsing, volcanic rage began to build. Rising from the floor, she focused on the men and reached out. The air around her seemed to shiver and part. A fraction of a heartbeat later she found herself standing alongside the torturers in one of the meld rooms on the other side of the prison. Ustarte’s talons ripped through the throat of the first man. The second tried to run, but she leapt on his back, bearing him to the ground. His head struck the stone floor, shattering the bones of his face.

  Ustarte freed Prial.

  “How did you …?” whispered Prial. “You … appeared from the air.” There was blood on his fur, and several implements were still embedded in his flesh. Gently Ustarte eased them clear.

  “We are leaving now,” said Ustarte.

  “The time has come?”

  “It has come.”

  Closing her eyes, she pulsed a message to all the meld creatures in the prison. Then she disappeared.

  The apartments of Deresh Karany were empty, and she recalled that he had gone to the city to meet with the Council of Seven. Deresh had plans to open a gateway between worlds and invade once more an ancient realm that had defeated them many years before.

  From outside came the sound of splintering timbers and screaming men. Ustarte walked to the window and saw the creatures of the meld swarming across the exercise ground. Guards were fleeing in terror. They did not get far.

  An hour later Ustarte led the 170 prisoners out into the countryside, high into the forested mountain slopes.

  “They will hunt us down,” said Prial. “We have nowhere to go.”

  His words were proved true within days, when Kriaz-nor troops and hunt hounds began scouring the forest.

  The escapees fought well and for a time enjoyed some small victories. But gradually they were whittled down and forced farther into the high country. Some of the prisoners took off on their own, moving still higher into the snow; others were sent by Ustarte in groups to seek freedom to the east or the south. Disfigured and malformed as they were, she warned them to avoid the haunts of men.

  On the last morning, as several hundred Kriaz-nor were climbing toward their camp, Ustarte gathered the remaining twenty followers around her. “Stay close to me,” she ordered her people, “and follow when I move.” Reaching out, she pictured the gateway as she had seen it in Deresh Karany’s thoughts.

  The air rippled. Ustarte threw out her arms. “Now!” she cried, just as the Kriaz-nor burst upon the camp. Ustarte stepped forward. Bright lights in a score of colors flickered around her. As they faded, she found herself standing within a green clearing in the shadow of a line of tall cliffs. The sun was shining brightly in a clear blue sky. Only nine of her followers made it through with her. Startled Kriaz-nor warriors were standing close by. Ahead was a huge stone arch cut into the cliff. Beneath the arch the rock was glowing, ripples of blue lightning flashing across it. The Kriaz-nor rushed at them. Ustarte leapt toward the arch. Prial, Menias, Corvidal, and Sheetza, a young girl with the scaled skin of a lizard, ran with her. The others charged the Kriaz-nor.

  Throwing out her arms, Ustarte summoned all her power. For an instant only the rock before her faded, and through it she saw moonlight over a series of ghostly ruins. As it began to fade, she and the last of her followers stepped through.

  Behind her the gateway closed, only bare rock remaining.

  Sheetza stumbled and fell. Ustarte saw that a knife was embedded in her back. The deformed girl was unconscious. Ustarte drew out the blade and threw it aside. Then she laid her hands over the wound, sealing it. Sheetza’s heart was no longer beating. Concentrating her power, Ustarte set the girl’s blood flowing.

  Sheetza opened her eyes. “I thought I was stabbed,” she said, her voice sibilant. “But there is no pain. Are we safe now?”

  “We are safe,” said Ustarte, feeling for the girl’s pulse. There was none. Only Ustarte’s magic kept the blood flowing. She was in effect already dead.

  In the distance Ustarte saw a glimmering lake. The small group made its way to it. Corvidal went for a swim with Sheetza. The girl moved through the water with the grace of a dolphin. When she emerged, she was laughing. She sat down at the water’s edge and splashed Menias. He ran forward and grabbed her, and they both fell into the water.

  Ustarte moved away from them. Prial came and sat with her. “Maybe some of the others got away,” he said.

  Ustarte did not answer. She was watching Sheetza. “I didn’t know you were also a healer,” he said.

  “I am not. Sheetza is dying. Her heart was pierced.”

  “But she is swimming,” said Prial.

  “When the magic fades, she will pass away. A few hours. A day. I don’t know.”

  “Oh, Great One! Why are we so cursed? Did we commit some vile sins in a past life?”

  That night Ustarte sat talking with Sheetza. The priestess could feel the magic in the girl fading. She tried to add more power to it, but to no avail. Sheetza grew sleepy and lay down. “What will we do in this world, Great One?” asked Sheetza.

  “We will save it,” answered Ustarte. “We will thwart the foul plans of Deresh Karany.”

  “Will the people here accept me?”

  “When they know you, they will love you, Sheetza, as we love you.”

  Sheetza smiled and fell asleep. Some time in the night, as Ustarte lay beside her, the lizard girl finally died.

  Still lost in thought, Ustarte did not notice Waylander move alongside her, not until he laid his hand on her shoulder.

  “I was very arrogant to believe I could stand against Deresh Karany and the Seven,” she said. “Arrogant and stupid.”

  “Rather, let us say brave and unselfish,” said Waylander. “But do not judge yourself yet. Tomorrow Emrin and Keeva will take the lad over the high passes and try to make it to the capital. Once they are safely on the road, I shall put your magicker’s immortality to the test.”

  “You must not go against him, Gray Man.”

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  “We all have choices. Why throw your life away needlessly? He cannot die.”

  “It is not about him, Ustarte. These men have killed my people and tortured my friend. What kind of a man would I be if I did not fight them?”

  “I do not want to see you die,” she said. “I have seen too much death already.”

  “I have lived long, U
starte. Perhaps too long. Many better men are now below the ground. Death does not frighten me. But even if I were to accept what you say about the folly of hunting Deresh Karany, there is one fact I cannot ignore. Matze Chai is still their prisoner. And I do not desert my friends.”

  14

  LORD ARIC OF House Kilraith lounged back in the carriage and stared idly out the window at the houses along the Avenue of Pines. There were few people on the streets of Carlis. The massacre of the duke and his followers had been shocking enough, but to learn that demons had been responsible had terrified the population. Most stayed behind locked doors, rediscovering the delights of prayer. Several hundred families were congregated within the temple, believing its walls would keep out all evil spirits. They were hoping for an appearance from Chardyn, but the priest had wisely gone into hiding.

  The carriage moved on through the deserted town.

  Aric’s mood was not good. As he had told Eldicar Manushan, he was bored. It was impolite of the man to have forbidden him to see the torture of the Chiatze. There was something about screams of pain that cut through the malaise Aric had been suffering for some while.

  His spirits lifted a little as he thought of Lalitia, remembering the slim, red-haired girl he had discovered in the prison. She had courage and ambition and a body she soon learned how to use. Those were good days, he thought.

  Aric had been lord of the Crescent then, enjoying a fine life on the taxes he received from the farmers and fishermen. But not so fine as that of some of the other nobles, notably Ruall, whose income had been ten times that of Aric. One night, at the old duke’s palace in Masyn, Aric had taken part in a gambling tourney. He had won twenty thousand gold pieces. Ruall had been the biggest loser. From being moderately wealthy, Aric had suddenly become, in his own eyes at least, rich. He had spent like a man with ten hands and within a year had debts at least the equal of the money he had won. So he gambled again and this time lost heavily. The more he lost, the more he gambled.

  He had been saved from destitution only by the death of the old duke and the accession of Elphons. This in turn allowed Aric to assume the lordship of Kilraith. With the new funds from taxes, he was able to at least maintain the interest on his debts.