Thorns in Shadow

by Sanan Kolva

  The prisoner’s head jerked up, and the gathering curse faltered a moment. His eyes tore over the crowd, but never settled on Lyan. He found strength to raise his voice a little above the hoarse whisper. “Who dares? You think you can stop me? Save your filthy land? Kill me, then. Kill me, and see what power you give my curse,” the prisoner panted in Elven.

  Curse this land, and you curse your own people as well as the Tathrens. The Tathrens can find other ways to get food, but your camp? You’ll condemn them to starve? I don’t want to see you dead. I want you alive and free.

  Cailean had pulled Lyan back far enough that he couldn’t hear the elf’s words any longer. The Tathren said something, but Lyan wasn’t listening. The curse hung over them, waiting for the final bloodshed to give it life. By the torturer’s sneer, he intended to beat the prisoner to death for the jeering crowd.

  That’s enough. Stop. That’s enough! Lyan desperately fixed his gaze onto the torturer. You’ve satisfied your lust for blood. It’s enough. You’re done. Stop. It’s enough.

  The torturer flicked his whip next to the prisoner’s face, in front of the elf’s eye, and laughed at the elf’s reflexive flinch and jerk back. Then he coiled the whip, smirking in satisfaction, and signaled to the guards.

  “Take him below.”

  A few in the crowd groaned in disappointment, but on the whole, the onlookers seemed satisfied with the spectacle they’d witnessed. Lyan took a deep breath and sagged back against the closest wall.

  “Lyan, what in the Mad God’s Pits? You did something, didn’t you?” Cailean insisted in a low voice. The Tathren lord stood in front of him, worry written on his face.

  “He intended to lay a blood curse,” Lyan whispered. “And he has enough magic to do it. I couldn’t let him. I think… he expected to be beaten to death.”

  “I admit, I expected the same thing,” Cailean responded. “You influenced the situation somehow, didn’t you?”

  Lyan just nodded. He blinked several times, clearing his gaze. “This is our chance to follow.”

  Cailean steadied him and nodded. “Let’s go.”

  The elven prisoner had been pulled down and his arms chained to a pole, allowing the guards to carry him between them without getting in his reach. Lyan counted ten guards just to move one beaten, starving prisoner from the courtyard to the dungeon.

  It seemed excessive only until the elf lashed out with chained feet, catching a guard who’d stepped too close. Before Lyan quite saw what happened, the elf had the leg chain wrapped around the guard’s neck to choke him. The guard gurgled as he grabbed at the chain.

  The other guards hit the prisoner with clubs until the elf couldn’t keep the chain drawn tight. The entangled guard struggled free and staggered back, coughing and gagging. One of his fellows pulled him further back.

  “Idiot! Don’t you have any sense? Trying to get yourself killed?”

  Ever since meeting Cailean and his men, I’ve known elves have a certain reputation among the Tathrens. But not until now did I understand that it’s a reputation our warriors worked hard to build and fully intend to maintain.

  Though barely conscious, the prisoner managed to lift his head, lips curled in a bloody, wicked smile. “One day, Tathren. Just wait.”

  The guards glared, but none moved close enough to hit him again. They dragged the elf forward, and he moved his feet in a vague attempt at walking. Cailean looked at Lyan with a question, and Lyan nodded, taking a chance. Ten guards and one prisoner… it might be enough that another seven people could somehow be overlooked.

  Shiolto and Dalrian looked as nervous as Lyan felt as they followed the guards into the main building. Yion had returned to his usual calm. Tension radiated from Aikan, expecting a trap to snap shut at any moment, or expecting hordes of elves to swarm down and attack. Torqual studied the fortifications with a soldier’s gaze, or at least, with the look Kithr might. Cailean’s face was expressionless and difficult to read.

  The guards moved through the building with purpose. Others scattered from their path and away from the prisoner. Lyan’s gaze swept the interior as they trailed the guards. Inlaid colored stones formed mosaics on the stone floor. The guards showed no concern over the blood their prisoner trailed on the colorful floor, and when Lyan glanced back, he saw a servant already had a bucket of water to wash the stones. No one gave Lyan or his group a second look, not even when they followed the guards and the prisoner into a room with a dozen more guards. The guards in the room looked up in surprise, and Lyan’s heart stopped for a moment. But the men looked at the prisoner, not at them.

  “Bringing him back? I thought Essen planned on killing him today.”

  One of the men carrying the prisoner chuckled. “Yeah, I thought so too, but I guess he screamed pretty enough that Essen decided to keep him around another day. Going to let us in?”

  The man who’d spoken opened the heavy wooden door, revealing a stairway leading down. The prisoner’s escort started down. The guard at the door scowled toward Lyan, though his gaze never quite settled on Lyan’s face.

  “Come on, hurry it up. They’re all chained up down there. Scared of a few elves?”

  Lyan shivered. Cailean took the lead, marching down the stairs like he had every right to be there. Lyan hurried after, and heard the others follow. The door slammed shut behind them, making Lyan jump with a wince. The air stank of wastes and rot, making Lyan quickly raise a hand to cover nose and mouth.

  “Well, what do you know, elf? You get to enjoy Lord Ewart’s finest hospitality for another day,” a guard laughed.

  The prisoner said nothing in response. Lyan followed Cailean to the bottom of the stairs. Another door stood before them, opening into a larger room. Cailean paused, drew a deep breath, and then grimaced at the smell. With a shudder, the Tathren lord stepped inside.

  Lyan had heard of dungeons as places filled with small cells where prisoners were locked away. The lord of this keep followed a different style to his prison. Cages hung from the ceiling, and some sat on the floor, but few solid walls blocked sight. In the center of the room, fiery coals smoldered in a pit, casting light and shadows to all corners. The chains hanging over the pit were empty, to Lyan’s relief. Other implements of torture, however, held victims, their limbs stretched tight or bound at unnatural angles. The guards dragged their prisoner to an empty cage and shoved him in, still chained to the pole.

  The leader of the guards turned. “And you thought we were going to kill your man, didn’t you, ‘Captain’?”

  Lyan followed the Tathren’s mocking gaze to the first elf he could identify. Nylas hung from the ceiling by chained wrists near the middle of the room, where he had a clear view of any tortures being inflicted. Thick shackles anchored his legs to the floor. Like the other prisoners, Nylas had been stripped to the waist. His face was lean, and he was thin, though less malnourished. Unlike the others, he bore no fresh wound, only a map of old scars. The glow of the fire highlighted the red hues of his hair, though Lyan remembered it being browner, darker than his own. No light, however, could warm the icy blue eyes Nylas fixed on the human.

  Nylas spoke, voice as cold as his eyes. “I will see your head impaled over our gates, Tathren.” Not a threat—a promise.

  “You’ll rot away in here long after we’ve killed the rest of your so-called warriors. You’ll watch every one of them die screaming in agony. Our lord will keep you here until you’ve sunk so far into madness that you don’t even remember your own name.” The guard sneered and turned on his heels. “Move out.”

  The other guards hastened to obey. Lyan scrambled away from the doorway, tensely waiting for the Tathrens to take notice of them. But the guards withdrew quickly. For all their bravado, they feared the elves. The prisoners were chained, bound, starved, and tortured, yet armed, armored, unrestrained humans kept a wary distance. It seemed laughable, but Lyan could find no humor. These elves had earned their reputation with blood.

  The door slammed shut with a for
ce that made him flinch, but with the guards’ departure, Lyan started to breathe a sigh of relief. Then Nylas’s cold, hard gaze fixed directly on him. Spell or no spell, Nylas saw him. The icy eyes narrowed, and he spoke again in Tathren. “What dark corner of my mind did you wander into and go mad, mage, to think dredging up this phantom would gain you anything? Do you even know what face you wear?”

  “Lyan?” Cailean whispered.

  “Cailean, right now, I don’t think any power in this world would prevent these elves from noticing Tathrens in their midst,” Lyan responded quietly. He never took his eyes off Nylas as he stepped away from the wall. “It’s the same face I’ve worn my whole life, Nylas. That of Lyan of Heartshrine Village.”

  The other elves started to shift and move, those who could, and more venomous eyes found Lyan and his Tathren companions. Nylas spoke again.

  “Lyan, the fool of the village. What idiocy made you think you should drag him from my memory—a useless, weak stargazer?” He jerked against his chains.

  Lyan’s hands clenched. The words cut sharply, the mockery he’d learned to live with in youth. “Yes, the ‘master of falling out of trees,’ wasn’t it?” He spoke in Elven, and walked closer to Nylas—far closer than any Tathren guard had dared. “I never told anyone the real folly that earned me that title. You told me I had to steal an egg from the nest of the silver-wing eagle.”

  Nylas’s eyes narrowed.

  Lyan spoke in a low voice. “You did, because you didn’t want to deal with a younger cousin who idolized you. You told me anyone who wanted to join you and those boys who followed you had to bring a silver-wing eagle’s egg. I knew you were lying. I knew that before I snuck off to do what you thought no one would be stupid enough to attempt.” He stood before Nylas, white-knuckle grip on Equinox. “A broken leg, a broken arm, a sprained wrist—those were the worst of it, though gods know I should have lost a few fingers to the bird for robbing her nest.” Lyan held Nylas’s icy gaze. “But I got that damned egg, and I got it to you without a single crack, and I never said a word to the adults who questioned me about what drove me to make the attempt in the first place. Think about that next time you call me ‘weak’, Nylas.”

  “Then I’ll simply call you an idiot. What in the names of our fallen would bring Lyan here?”

  Lyan raised Equinox. Nylas didn’t flinch, but the other elves tensed, as if they had any means of stopping Lyan from striking Nylas. Lyan swept the Spear over his head, striking the chains binding Nylas’s arms. Equinox cut through the metal as easily as through fresh bread.

  Of any act Lyan could have taken, that one caught Nylas by surprise. He fell to the floor with a clatter of chains. Nylas sprang to his feet with surprising speed, the first emotion other than hate glimmering in his eyes: the faintest hint of confusion. He had thought he had the truth, but now doubt entered his certainty.

  Nylas looked at Lyan with narrow eyes. Chains still held his legs, but he could move. “I could kill you where you stand.”

  Lyan swallowed the lump in his throat, but answered. “You could try, if you want to attempt to become a kin-slayer. Patch said you don’t kill your own people, but she might have been wrong.”

  Nylas grew abruptly still and tense, a response echoed by the other elves. “What do you know of her, mage?”

  “Those who remain in your camp sent us here, Nylas. We agreed to free the elven prisoners in this keep in exchange for passage through the forest.”

  Nylas’s eyes flickered away from Lyan long enough to take in Lyan’s companions, standing well out of reach at the back wall. Lyan didn’t turn. He could feel Aikan’s glare trying to bore holes in the back of his head. Nylas spoke. “Tathrens who enter my forest don’t leave alive.”

  “They do when they come as companions to the Spearbearer of Equinox,” Lyan said in a voice as cold as Nylas’s.

  He could hear the drip of water and the ragged breathing of prisoners who refused to give voice to their pain. No one moved. In the stillness, Lyan felt the weight of eyes on him. Nylas broke the silence.

  “You dare to claim that you, the useless stargazer, have claimed a Spear of the Stars. Not even a warrior, but a book-rotted astrologer.”

  Lyan’s jaw tightened. “I dare to tell you we have no right to Solstice, and we never did. I bear Equinox. I solved the riddle to find the shrine, and I succeeded in the Trials, then was chosen by the Spear itself.” He stepped closer, until he stood within easy arm’s reach of Nylas. “I hold one of the most powerful weapons known to us. I didn’t have to agree to go with your men when they attacked us in the forest. I chose to, and I chose to agree when they proposed that we free the prisoners from this keep. I thought I would be aiding my kin and my people, but now I wonder if I was wrong.” He looked over the prisoners, then back to Nylas, speaking loud enough that none could mistake his words. “There is no helping those Lost to Eilidh Wood.”

  “You… dare…,” Nylas hissed, rage burning in his eyes.

  Lyan braced himself, anticipating the rage turning to murderous intent at any moment. “Then prove me wrong. I am here, in the company of Tathrens, to free you. You can try to kill me—the Spearbearer, or you can accept our help. What will you do?”

  Nylas’s fingers curled like claws, and he caught hold of Lyan’s shirt, pulling Lyan face-to-face with him. Lyan smelled sweat and unbathed flesh, but no fresh blood on Nylas. Nylas’s icy blue eyes bore into Lyan’s for a heartbeat that hung like an eternity, then he released his grip. Nylas looked slowly around the dungeon, to his men. Finally he spoke in Tathren. “We will accept your help, Lyan. Only yours. These… ‘companions’ you claim will not be touched, but we acknowledge nothing of them or from them.”

  “I wouldn’t have gotten here without them, but if that’s the resolution you can abide by, that will free you without shedding your blood or ours, fine.” Lyan took a step back and held Equinox lengthwise before him. “Then you don’t owe any debt to the Tathrens. Only to me.”

  Nylas made a fist, and closed his eyes, drawing a slow breath that betrayed fury. The elves of Eilidh Wood rarely counted debts among each other. It implied distrust.

  “You dare call us Lost, then you claim debt against us?” another elf demanded from his cage, slamming a fist against the bars.

  “Silence!” Nylas ordered. He opened his eyes to stare hard at Lyan as he rested his hands on the Spear’s shaft. “For the release of my men and a safe return to our camp, I will be in debt to Lyan of Heartshrine Village, Spearbearer of Equinox. If you have lied, and either of those titles does not apply to you, then there is no debt, and I will kill you.”

  Lyan didn’t flinch from Nylas. “I know.”

  Chapter Five

  Hope in the night

  Dream for the day

  Of shadow and light

  And unbroken way

  Lyan didn’t waste time looking for a key on a Tathren guard, and not here in the dungeon. Equinox cut through the chains at Nylas’s ankles, giving the elven captain free movement. He didn’t expect any thanks from Nylas, and he got none. Nylas’s icy glare didn’t even lessen. His doubts wouldn’t be easily put aside, nor his smoldering anger at Lyan’s accusations. His eyes flashed to Cailean and his men, then back to Lyan. Without a word, Nylas walked to the nearest of his men, an elf with a long burn down the side of his face, locked in a cage. The ends of the chains rattled as Nylas moved.

  His tone was brusque. “Physon. Can you walk?”

  The other straightened painfully. “I can kill Tathrens.”

  Nylas’s eyes narrowed. “Of course you can. That’s not what I asked.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Good.” The look Nylas gave Lyan required no words.

  Why do you ask that? What would you do if he said no? Leave him here? Lyan touched Equinox to the cage door, and saw a brief flash of blue-white fire in the keyhole. Liquefied metal dripped to the floor as the lock melted. Physon carefully pushed at the door, and it swung open. He looked toward Cailea
n, then to Nylas. Nylas shook his head, and Physon’s lip curled in a brief sneer, nearly a snarl.

  Nylas moved to the next elf. He moved slowly, and Lyan knew he must be in pain, but Nylas didn’t let it show on his face. Compared to the others, he hadn’t been physically tortured beyond being left hanging in chains, and Lyan guessed he didn’t want to let his men see him hurting.

  Or maybe he thinks showing pain is “weak”, and he won’t act “weak”.

  Lyan freed the second elf, then caught Nylas’s shoulder before Nylas could move on. Nylas spun, one hand clenching to strike at anyone who dared such an affront as to lay a hand on him without permission, but he held back, only narrowing his eyes at Lyan. “What?”

  “I don’t have to do this one at a time, Nylas. If I can trust you and your men to do as you’ve said and not attempt to harm my companions, I can release them all at once.” Leaving elves trapped in their suffering sickened him.

  “You doubt my word?” Nylas asked in a low, dangerous voice.

  “I have just as much faith in your word as you do in mine,” Lyan countered.

  “Do you ever know when to shut your mouth?” Nylas’s eyes narrowed.

  “Obviously not, since I still suffer under the delusion that I can actually talk sense into you,” Lyan snapped. “Now, do we keep doing this the slow way or not?”

  “I accepted your terms, provisional on you being who you claim to be. Until you prove you are not, we will all abide by those terms.” Nylas looked from Lyan around the room. “Your Tathrens do not exist, so far as we are concerned. They are nothing, neither threat nor enemy. So long as you are who you claim to be.” He spoke as much to his men as to Lyan.

  He’s willing to consider I might be who I claim. Otherwise he would already have killed me for the insult.

  Lyan drew a deep breath and focused on Equinox. A hundred answers raced through his mind, all possible ways of releasing the prisoners. Lyan gripped the Spear to steady him. Simple. A simple way that won’t draw the guards upstairs.

  The spell was elven in origin, or at least, the words to cast it were Elven. “Let that which binds be undone, that which restrains be broken, those who are in chains be set free.”