Gods of Shadow and Flame

by M. H. Johnson

  “Necessary,” Lucienda coolly corrected. “I have given a gentle suggestion for all hands to avoid troubling us as we sleep, and no passengers are allowed upon deck at this hour, so anyone who fights hard to resist my gentle compulsion can only have ill intent towards us.”

  "Exactly," Malek concurred, already feeling revitalized, so great was his strength now, so immense were the changes to his vitality that had been wrought from his repeated forays into the Dreamrealms. Odd changes he was loath to think about too deeply, if he could help it. "You may rest easy tonight, my friend. Even crossbow bolts will be deflected by my ward. For a time. But the cost of that potency is my gift revealed in true. It is a killing ward, and should any sailor be foolish enough to approach, I beg you to look away when the screams begin. It will be his soul, not his flesh that you hear, and his death will not be pretty."

  Morlekai nodded even as Latif blanched at Malek's words. “I would never be so foolish as to allow us to sleep topside otherwise. Rest easy, friend Latif. Our Hound has no quarrel with innocent men. Unless these sailors are backstabbing fools, all will be well for the remainder of our voyage.”

  Alacabar grinned. "If you're a slaver on the other hand, our pup here is quite happy to rend you limb from limb! Is that not right, boy?”

  Malek sighed. “Give it a rest, Alacabar.”

  Alacabar laughed. “Very well then. We have our bedrolls and are safe as houses. Rest well, my friends. For tomorrow is another fine day at sea, and I, for one, plan to get in some fishing!”

  And they did just that. Their sleep peaceful and deep, waking to the warm jests of sailors setting about their tasks, Malek and Alacabar both finding the fishing everything they could have hoped for that day. Malek even found to his surprise, gazing at the stars upon the prow of the gently rocking ship amongst the company of friends and companions, that he was near as happy as he had ever been. He wished only that his shieldsister was there in all her mad glory, ready to quest by their side, to make his happiness complete.

  41

  The remainder of their voyage proceeded uneventfully save for Alacabar's adventures with line and tackle, which Malek thought a very good thing, particularly when his friend managed to drag in a massive tuna, of all things, with line far thicker than Malek thought the norm. From then on the sailors gazed at their group with fond respect as much as fear, the term Delver's luck bandied about not infrequently, for none among them had caught such a massive fish with line and tackle before. Malek chuckled wryly at that, having absolutely no luck at catching a single fish after that first glorious day, but happy enough just to sit by Alacabar's side, listening to his friend regale him with tales of wonder and adventure, leaving Malek lost in reverie and curious as to just how old his friend truly was.

  When not enjoying Alacabar's company, Malek grew to quite like gazing from the prow as the galleon raced across the choppy sea, enjoying the refreshing mist tingling against his skin, the endless blue waters, the horizon bold and beautiful. He smiled, more than once imagining the sailor's life, and even climbed the webbing for a bit after taking off his armor, though he noted a number of crewmen gazing up at him nervously, until the captain apologetically informed Malek that his forays were distracting his men, Morlekai's reproving gaze making it quite clear Malek was not to upset the crew in any way.

  Still, he decided, it was a thrill to be riding atop the great sea, and he could well imagine life as a sailor, leaving his terrible blade with a bemused Alacabar as he strode about the passengers brave enough to come topside when they were permitted to, never opposed to making a new friend or two, finding much to his delight that, sans dread blade, more than a few of the younger passengers were happy to converse with him, especially when he let them know he was indeed a Delver, having a fine morning of regaling them with the lighter tales of glory and adventure he himself had been a part of.

  "How exciting!" confessed one bright-eyed lass of perhaps fifteen summers, the young man protectively holding her hand by her side nodding his agreement. "I had always wanted to be an adventurer," her beau confessed, grinning at his own declaration. "A dangerous profession, though, Grandmother says. Few have the talent, and those that do are lucky to survive their first forays, despite the tales of glory. Alas, practicality must win through if I wish to marry one day, so an apprenticeship instead I shall serve."

  The young woman whose hand he caressed blushed at these words, her smile bright with happiness and hope for the future. "An apprenticeship we shall take together. And a happy future we shall forge one day, masters of our own shop."

  Malek grinned, oddly touched by these and other declarations. Many of the hopeful apprentices were younger, more than a few accompanied by guardians which was a relief of sorts to Malek, leaving him hopeful that all would be well for these children, despite his earlier apprehensions.

  When their ship finally made sight of their destination, Malek found himself awed by the vast size of Riskordia, of a scope that quite took his breath away. The hills themselves were covered with vast mansions and villas, interspersed with brilliant splashes of green from carefully maintained evergreen hedges, Malek could only guess, a beautiful contrast to the white stone facing upon all of those structures shining brilliantly in the afternoon sun, though nothing compared to the glory of his own beloved Krona, of course.

  Even the warehouses upon the massive harbor they carefully sailed into were clean and well maintained, the harbor itself teeming with merchants and laborers, the wharfs laden with what looked to be close to a dozen great galleons the size of their own, among scores of other ships of various sizes and nationalities.

  “Wow! I’ve never seen such a bustling city in all my life. They look beyond prosperous,” Latif confided in a hushed voice to a pleased looking Morlekai.

  “Prosperous Riskordia is indeed, being as it is a major trade hub for goods manufactured within this kingdom and its neighbors," their leader said. "Even ships from our northern neighbors sail to these docks for purposes of commerce, whereas centuries before it would have been for war.”

  Malek smiled at their newest companion, gazing about with such wonder. “I feel your awe, Latif, my studies at Highrock aside. It is one thing to read about other nations in a dry tome, and quite another to see it in all its glory firsthand.”

  "Which is why I'd far rather experience life firsthand than read about it in a book!" Alacabar happily declared. Malek frowned thoughtfully as Alacabar handed him his great Zweihander in its custom sheath to strap to his armored back once more. If Alacabar did not favor reading, how could he possibly have mastered all those bardic accounts of adventure and glory? They couldn't all have been his own Delvings, not in truth, and to the best of Malek's knowledge, no Delver recalled anything of their adventures save fragments of nightmare and glory, feeling relief and closure only with the bardic renditions reminding them of their own tales, even as they ached hopelessly to embrace the sweet madness once more.

  Yet before Malek could gird himself to question a suddenly cool-eyed Alacabar, he caught sight of Latif's haunted gaze as he adjusted the straps of his sheath.

  “Is it really so terrible?” Malek asked.

  Though he looked ready to deny it, Latif caught himself, smiling almost apologetically as he nodded. “I’m sorry my friend, but looking upon it is like gazing at the promise of death. I almost feel like its shadow would reach out to caress my very soul if it could, before sucking it out of me entire.”

  Malek sighed. "Bloody hells. Even fellow Delvers don't like my sword."

  Alacabar gave his young companion a hearty clap on his shoulder causing Malek to wince just a bit. “Don’t worry about it, lad. Most of us are used to your hellblade by now.”

  Lucienda nodded. “Though what in heaven’s name made you think you could conduct an investigation among the common folk wearing that dread artifact escapes me, dear Malek. It truly does.”

  Malek grinned sheepishly even as they proceeded down the plank, the captain bidding them fa
rewell with meaningless words of flattery and a tremendously relieved smile, no doubt happy just to have them off, and his ship intact. "Yeah, you're right, Lucienda. I was calling myself an idiot for bringing the stupid thing along and was about to head back to our rooms when, well…"

  Alacabar nodded. “Adventurer’s luck, where chance itself twists to the skeins of fate to accommodate a Delver’s Doom.”

  Latif blinked. “That doesn’t sound precisely good, friend Alacabar.”

  Alacabar’s great chuckle seemed to echo through the busy port. “Nor is it. Our destiny is not the sweet sunset at the end of a peaceful life spent tilling the fields. No! It is our calling to grasp the bedrock of fate and carve our doom upon it with bold strokes of courage and daring. For whether we triumph over the husks of our fallen foes, or fall in the cauldron of battle boiling in the deepest reaches of Shadow matters little, so long as our deeds and names are part of the great tale of this land, to be remembered and sung of in the epic stories of bards for years to come!”

  Lucienda smiled. "In other words, Latif, a Delver's life rarely ends in repose. One could argue fate itself shapes events to point us in the direction of conflict; whether to triumph and grow ever stronger, or fall and be remembered only in legend, is the only choice that is truly our own. That we will be compelled, summoned forth to embrace the struggles of our time, or perhaps even play a role in pivotal moments of our ancient past, that is the only truth we can count upon. The ultimate fate of all those who dare to embrace the Shadowrealms, dreams so potent they transcend even the waking world as we become visible to the dreaming gods that hold sway over us all. Pawns upon the board of fate, in a great game vast beyond our comprehension."

  Latif grimaced as the group made their way from the docks, the busy streets choked with pedestrians and merchants alike seeming to melt before them, instinctively giving them the same wide berth they would give any noble or man whose gaze held the cold wisdom of death in all its many forms. “You see, this is the reason why I left the adventuring life. To be free of the Delver’s Curse, and perhaps live a life as sweet and normal as I could hope for, with the woman of my heart by my side.”

  Latif sighed and shook his head. "Yet somehow, here I am."

  Alacabar grinned. “Here you are indeed, boon companion, and glad we are to have you! And with the purse you have with this venture, you truly will be free, so long as fate does not arrange further folly, bringing you right back into the wondrous cauldron of dream and desire that is the adventurer’s life once more!”

  Malek caught the worried looking man’s gaze, giving as encouraging a smile as he could. “I know what it's like to feel like your life is burdened by a curse, and though I lack your gifts, I can all but sense the purity of your soul. I promise you this, friend Latif. Should trouble or sorrow befall you or your family, you need only ask me, and I will be there for you.”

  Latif looked truly touched. "I thank you, friend Malek. But believe you me, I have learned my lesson. The folly I suffered was of my own doing, not fate, and no responsibility save my own. You may rest assured that I shall be as prudent as a miser with this boon, and shall tend to my orchards with dedication and care until they blossom and bear fruit, however many years it takes."

  Malek smiled at his friend's declaration, enjoying a stick of roasted meat and vegetables Alacabar had purchased from one of the many exotically dressed vendors greeting sailors and passengers leaving their ships, the vegetables still crisp and juicy, the meat savory and sweet, when time froze for the barest instant, Malek's eye by merest chance catching glimpse of a smiling girl holding the hand of an older version of herself; her mother, no doubt, one who he had only seen in passing upon the ship.

  His heart began to race. He understood, then. He understood the cards he had been dealt, and what he must do. He stopped abruptly, ignoring the flustered outrage of the man behind him, a voice that quickly became one of abject apologies a second later, even as Malek began to race through the crowd, making his way toward that barely glimpsed young girl.

  “Malek, bloody hells, boy, where are you going? I swear we need to leash him, Morlekai!”

  The words went unheeded, Malek racing on, feeling his heart hammer in his chest, an anxious dread and terrible hope all at once. For an awful moment he feared he had lost them, and there they were, amongst the crowd of all the hopeful apprentices, all milling outside an impressive edifice as large as any keep, the first story of quartz flecked white stone that sparkled brilliantly in the sun, the upper two stories made of finest hardwood, with fine windows of stained glass spaced regular as clockwork on the upper floors. A grand building indeed, and, according to the sign, the founding branch of Lilithon Montid textiles.

  “Malek! What are you thinking? Come. Let us leave these frightened people in peace, dear one. We have much to do in a very short time.”

  Yet even Lucienda’s soothing voice and gentle touch did not dissuade Malek from his purpose, his haunted eyes locking gazes with near every child and young adult milling about the entrance before the great hall, more than one visibly flinching and looking away.

  “Malek, you are frightening them.”

  And Malek realized it was so. He nodded his head, understanding what he must do. Almost offhandedly he unstrapped his sheath, solemnly handing it to a displeased Lucienda even as he made his way through the suddenly anxious crowd of onlookers.

  "Good sir, good sir! May I help you? You are not here looking to apprentice, are you? Though you look as fit as any soldier, you are a handful of years older than most youths we take on, I'm afraid." This from one of the officious men dressed in woolen cloak matching his gray doublet and pantaloons. A uniform worn by several busy looking men marking wax tablets amongst the bustle of apprentices and hopefuls, the attire understated though exquisitely tailored, as was fitting for a representative of an enterprise specializing in fine tailoring and battle quality gambesons.

  Almost without thinking about it, Malek gently moved the man aside, lifting him off his feet and placing him out the way despite his sudden squawk of outrage, even as Malek continued to search the nervous looking crowd for a face that had been so hauntingly familiar.

  “This is an outrage! Remove yourself, young sirrah, or I shall have the guards on you, see if I don’t!”

  Malek paid the official no mind as he continued his search.

  As focused as he was, he could not help but pick up the comforting, familiar scent suddenly beside him, for all that his senses were swimming in a sea of exotic odors; some enticing, most foul, the stench of unwashed bodies, fear and hope prickling strongest upon his nose. "Bloody hells, boy, what's gotten your britches in such a knot?"

  “The dream,” Malek whispered, hunting through the crowd, desperate to find that face that had so haunted him. “I saw her, Alacabar. I swear I did!”

  Alacabar's exasperated expression suddenly became grim. "Saints above. Delver's Doom aside, I still hope you're wrong boy, but I'll stand with you."

  A wave of relief. One friend who would always stand beside him, right or wrong. Morlekai’s voice, icy with fury; Alacabar trying to sooth him and explain. When Malek blinked, a cold wave of recognition washed over him. There she was. The same features, the same light brown hair loosely braided. At last, he had found her!

  Tentatively, humbly, he proceeded towards the concerned looking girl now gazing back at him, her mother’s expression one of barely contained anxiety. Tunnel vision. Eyes only for them.

  Heart racing, Malek walked slowly towards them, hands raised, smiling as gently as he could, grimly certain he appeared a raving lunatic. Quite deliberately he stopped some ten paces away, almost crouching down with his desire not to intimidate them, frightened more of their bolting than their conversation being overheard.

  "Please forgive my intrusion. I promise you I mean you no harm. I just wanted to talk to you."

  Lips pursed with barely concealed anxiety, the mother instinctively pushed her confused looking daughter behind h
er. "You're an adventurer, are you not? I can tell, as I too am from Erovering, and you have that look about you. Forgive me, my lord, but my daughter and I are plain, simple folk. We do not wish to give offense, but we have no knowledge or talents that could possibly be of use to you. Please. Be so gracious as to leave us be."

  Malek gave a slow nod, more to soothe than agreement. “I have no desire to trouble you or your child, my lady.” He took a deep breath, looking for the words. “It is just, I have dreams sometimes. Sometimes I sense things. Or feel things. Or see things. I know not if it is but a nightmare, or if there is a glimmer of truth.” He grimaced. “My lady, may we speak in private?”

  The lady gave a grim shake of her head. “You may speak your peace, my lord. But here is as fine as anywhere else.”

  Malek sighed and nodded. “Very well, then. Let me say it plainly. I fear for your daughter. It was her face I saw. Her voice I heard, crying out in my dream. Locked in a vessel of some sort, a dark room with bars. Crying out for someone to help her. Crying out for you.”

  He grimaced even as the mother turned pale, looking at him with horror. “Please understand, I did not want this to be true, but her face, the exact same as the dream, I fear for her. I fear for you both. Hate me or fear me as you will. But I plead with you. Go back home. Go where it is safe. Far better to lose an apprenticeship for your daughter then to risk losing her altogether.”

  Now holding the visibly shaking girl whose gentle gaze and perfect features were every bit as beautiful as when she had haunted his dreams, the mother's look was one of fear and outrage. "You have said enough. Why you would wish to terrify us, I do not know! But if this is some adventurer's jest, it is in very, very poor taste. Please leave us be. We have no further interest in talking to you!"

  Her voice had risen to a shout. The crowd of apprentices and guardians were all conversing in low murmurs, some gazing at Malek thoughtfully, many others with fear or even hostility.