Shadowless

by Randall McNally

  What do I do now? he thought. I know this is a trap, so why am I following him?

  ‘What’s stopping me from killing you now and going home, Luthan?’

  ‘Things are already in motion. If we don’t reach the fifth marker by nightfall, my master will come looking for you. He will destroy Arboria and kill everyone in it.’

  Tundra was excellent at reading people, he prided himself on it, and a chill went down his spine when he realized that Luthan was not lying. There was a calmness in his voice, a sincerity he had never displayed before. Tundra figured he would need to tire Luthan out before they reached the fifth marker, so he would play no part in what was going to happen.

  I’m going to have to face whatever is out there, he thought. I cannot risk any danger being brought back to Arboria.

  ‘And who is your master, Luthan?’ he queried, more in hope than expectation that he would divulge any information.

  ‘All in good time, Tundra,’ Luthan stated coldly. ‘All in good time.’

  The pair walked further into the forest, reaching the third marker just after noon. The terrain was increasingly hilly and clearings less frequent. Here, elm trees grew thick on the slopes and the wildlife more deadly.

  Tundra made sure that Luthan was never more than five yards from him. If he felt like his adversary was getting ready to make a break for it or was getting too far away, he would pull back his bow. The sound of the string and wood tensing and stretching soon alerted Luthan to the fact that his behaviour needed to be ‘realigned’.

  Luthan kept turning, trying to see what Tundra was doing.

  ‘Stop looking back or I’ll shoot you now and be done with it.’

  ‘Ha. You’re either very brave or very stupid, Tundra Evergreen,’ Luthan scoffed.

  ‘How did you get Elder Tago to pair us up, he knows I’ve never liked you?’ Tundra asked.

  ‘I weakened his mind with magic. It wasn’t easy, he’s a tough-willed old bastard, but I started not long after I arrived. Soon he was obeying my every command,’ Luthan said, as he turned round again, a grin creeping across his face.

  Tundra smiled back and then nodded in agreement.

  ‘He certainly is a tough-willed old bastard, but he’s our tough-willed old bastard.’

  In one fluid motion, Tundra pulled back the string of his bow. He let fly with an arrow before his target could react. Striking Luthan a glancing blow on the forehead, the arrow cut through flesh and gouged a furrow along his scalp. Luthan screamed and staggered to the ground.

  When the initial shock had passed, Luthan lay whimpering, his hands to his head. He was stunned to find how much blood he was losing.

  Tundra nocked another arrow and strolled over to Luthan. He squatted beside him and looked at his vicious head wound with mock concern.

  ‘That looks nasty. Could get infected,’ he said, with a wry smile.

  Luthan looked up at him, his face red with anger and pain.

  Tundra quickly rose to his feet and pulled back the string of his bow, aiming at the area between Luthan’s legs.

  ‘If I wanted to kill you, you would be dead. Now get up and start moving before I give you more than a scalp wound,’ he ordered.

  Luthan looked at him with utter hatred and pulled himself to his feet, his tunic and hood now saturated in blood.

  Lifting his hood and pulling it tight against the top of his head, Luthan tried to stop the bleeding. The pressure from his hood halted the blood flow while it stayed in place but the smallest of movements reopened the laceration.

  ‘Only one of us will see the next sunrise, Tundra Evergreen,’ he hissed. ‘That I swear.’

  Tundra used his bow to indicate the direction he wanted his would-be trapper to walk in, and Luthan trudged off.

  Tundra watched Luthan wincing and heard his muffled yelps of pain. He grinned at seeing his enemy in such discomfort. And, more importantly, he had started to weaken Luthan. He kept the pace fast and arduous, through steep-banked valleys and across some of the most demanding forest the Daruin had to offer. The trees were denser here, more than in any other part, and the atmosphere was close and suffocating. Ivy-covered rocks littered the ground and heavy vines hung between the kapok trees.

  Unsure of what his enemy was capable of Tundra got closer to Luthan, slinging his bow and drawing his sword, poking him in the back with it when he felt the movement rate was dropping. It was early afternoon and they had passed the fourth marker. Tundra had not been this far from Arboria in months, and the tracks that he and the other rangers had once made were almost unnoticeable.

  If I turn back now, I will still be able to make it back home before nightfall, he thought.

  At this time of year, the fourth marker was the furthest point that could be travelled to and back from, without having to spend the night in the forest.

  ‘Is that what you think, Tundra? You think you can ever go home again?’

  The voice was coming from Luthan’s body, yet it was not his normal voice.

  ‘What did you just say? Turn around, before I run through you,’ Tundra commanded.

  Luthan twisted his back and slowly turned, like a serpent getting ready to strike at its prey.

  ‘I asked if you think you can ever go home again,’ Luthan hissed.

  Even though Luthan had his hood up Tundra could see that the skin on his face was now grey and saggy, and had begun to peel where the arrow had struck him. His eyes were sunken and bloodshot while his teeth had got longer and sharper, and his tongue split at the tip.

  ‘By the gods, what sort of foul creature are you?’ Tundra backed off, raising his sword.

  A bony grey finger with a pointed nail protruded from under Luthan’s sleeve. The finger pointed to the east.

  ‘He’s waiting,’ he said, before walking into the forest, hunched over.

  Tundra stood motionless, desperately trying to process what was happening. What had Luthan become? Why did he want to go east?

  Every time a thought or question came into his head, Tundra tried to force it out immediately, mindful that Luthan, or whoever he was, seemed to know what he was thinking.

  With his sword at the ready, Tundra followed his foe down the hill, through thick undergrowth until they reached flatter country where the trees grew in clumps, separated by narrow stretches of water. Tundra was less familiar with this part of the woods but knew that a huge flood several decades ago had caused a swamp to form to the east and sooner or later, if they kept on their present course, they would be in it.

  The autumn sun was arcing across the sky as the two traversed through the thickets and creeks. Eating a few nuts and berries when he could, Tundra kept a close eye on Luthan. His adversary’s body had become increasingly hunched as the day wore on and he was developing a pronounced limp. His breathing was more laboured than before.

  He’s changing into something the closer we get to the fifth marker, Tundra thought.

  As they walked, Tundra heard the figure in front of him muttering something. Rushing to him, he pressed the point of his sword into Luthan’s back and then grabbed him by the neck.

  ‘Cease your dark incantations now or I’ll kill you where you stand,’ he said in a low voice, aware that there could be other dangers nearby.

  Luthan stopped muttering and slowly moved off.

  The pair crested a small hillock and Tundra looked down onto the plain beneath. The trees that lay within the swamp were thick and grey, gnarled and twisted, their boughs bearing wooden spikes that jutted out in every direction, their leaves black with a dull yellow, pus-like liquid seeping from them.

  Between these trees lay a mist-laden, dark-green and brown swamp whose waters bubbled sporadically as gases escaped from decaying matter in their murky depths. Tied around one of the trees was a moss-covered rope with several rotting eagle feathers.

  ‘Th
e fifth marker,’ Luthan hissed, his voice sounding even more serpentine than before.

  Tundra pulled his arms free of his backpack and let it fall to the ground. Grasping his sword with both hands he stood with his feet apart, giving himself as steady a base from which to attack as possible.

  ‘So we’re here, now what?’ he demanded.

  ‘We wait,’ Luthan replied.

  ‘Wait for what? You wanted to bring me to the fifth marker. I’m here,’ Tundra stated.

  He looked around him for any sign of an attack, feeling both fear and anticipation.

  ‘Patience, Tundra, all good things come to those who wait.’

  Luthan spoke in the tone of someone whose plan was already coming to fruition.

  ‘What are we waiting for?’ Tundra asked, as he once again touched the point of his sword to Luthan’s back.

  ‘That,’ Luthan replied, crouching on one knee and pointing into the swamp with a twisted hand.

  Tundra edged forward. Watching Luthan for any sudden movements, he scanned the immediate vicinity for signs of life. Then, a large male stag walked calmly through the swamp, trotting in and out of the thick reed beds and murky brown water, seemingly oblivious to its surroundings.

  ‘That’s it, isn’t it?’ Tundra asked, as something that had been in his subconscious came to the fore. ‘The stag I’ve been hunting for months.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It wanted me to follow it,’ Tundra said, transfixed by the animal. ‘I first saw its tracks six months ago and then lost them. When I couldn’t follow it to the fifth marker that is when you appeared. You and the stag, you both wanted to lead me here.’

  Something clicked in Tundra’s mind; whether it was fate, a sense of inevitability or a realisation that a force beyond his control was determined to steer him in a certain direction, he was not sure. What he did know was that someone or something had gone to great lengths to get him here.

  ‘Follow it, Tundra, follow your destiny,’ Luthan said manically, the pitch of his voice becoming higher.

  Tundra snapped out of his stupor.

  ‘We’re going into this swamp together, or not at all. Now get moving.’

  Tundra raised his sword above his head, ready to deliver a strike to Luthan should he refuse his command.

  Still not showing his face, Luthan slowly moved down the hill, holding onto low-hanging branches for support. His limp caused his back to spasm as he moved downhill, making his arms recoil and spread wide apart in order to obtain some balance.

  Tundra watched as his adversary navigated his way between the vicious-looking, spiked trees, scrambling over the rocky ground like some sort of mutated, flightless bird. The wheezing that had accompanied Luthan’s breathing had given way to full-on coughing. Every few steps were punctuated by a rasping, spluttering noise that caused him to buckle until he caught his breath again. Getting down the hill was a slow process.

  Tundra kept his sword ready to strike Luthan at the first sign of trouble.

  At the bottom of the slope they found themselves ankle-deep in dank, foul-smelling water. They meandered forward into the unrelenting slime as the sun began to set. The last few rays of light cast shadows from the trees. They also cast shadows from Luthan and the stag up ahead; but not from Tundra.

  Tundra saw the stag move deeper into the swamp. It was walking at a steady pace and without moving its head.

  Very unnatural, he thought. At the very least it should be sniffing the ground and looking at its surroundings. The thing’s walking as if controlled by someone.

  Tundra stopped.

  The stag walked on, followed by Luthan only a few steps behind. Tundra saw light coming from deep in the swamp. His heart beat faster and his body trembled. Like a man facing a preordained judgement he inhaled and exhaled forcefully several times to fill his body with oxygen. Gripping his sword with both hands he walked forward.

  Following Luthan for another fifty yards, he saw him stall at the edge of a clearing.

  Luthan crawled onto a fallen log and sat down, feet dangling into the dark water.

  Tundra approached him. He watched the stag walk into a clearing that was raised above the swamp; the animal stood motionless in the middle of a circle of white powder. Six figures in shabby dark-green robes stood facing the stag, all brandishing curved daggers. The clearing was illuminated by four coal braziers.

  How did I get myself into this? Tundra thought, no longer caring what Luthan could hear him think.

  ‘Ssh, you’re going to miss the ascension,’ Luthan hissed.

  The robed figures were moving in a circle round the stag, stopping intermittently and bowing to it. They threw their hands in the air and chanted; it seemed like a worship ritual. Luthan was also chanting under his breath.

  Do I attack Luthan now? Do I run into the clearing and kill the stag, or the cultists? Do I wait to see what happens? he wondered, deliberately trying not to shield his thoughts.

  The chanting ended. The robed figures stopped moving and the braziers dimmed. The stag began bellowing loudly. As soon as it did, the six figures ran towards the animal in a violent frenzy and started to stab and slice it with frightening ferocity.

  Tundra looked on, shocked, as the animal was stabbed again and again. The attack was relentless. Even when it collapsed to its knees, the cultists clambered onto its back and thrust their knives into its head and neck. The blood-soaked stag fell to the ground and still the robed figures cut at it. Down on their knees beside the animal’s carcass, knives in both hands, they plunged their blades deep into it with manic thrusts.

  And then they stopped.

  Covered in blood and gore they got to their feet and took five steps back, knives still in their hands.

  Tundra was astonished at the act of barbarism that had played out in front of him. He gazed at the dead animal lying in the clearing, blood oozing from multiple stab wounds, and then at the hooded figures that had just carried out the atrocity, their serrated knives dripping blood.

  ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ Luthan whispered.

  Tundra clutched his sword and looked at the hunched figure in front of him. Feeling that now was the time to put an end to this masquerade, he raised his blade towards Luthan’s back.

  ‘Yes, Luthan, it is beautiful. Almost as beautiful as the way I am going to…wait, what?’

  Tundra stared at the clearing, scarcely believing what he was seeing.

  The stag was twitching, or rather, something was moving inside its body. Lumps were forming and moving under its flesh, stretching its skin and pulling its limbs and head one way and then another. The animal’s body shifted slowly at first before spasming in an outburst of seizures and its stomach began to swell to grotesque proportions, becoming blistered with large sores. Each of these pustules then burst, spewing green slime.

  The cultists started chanting again.

  What is happening to that thing? There is something trying to get out of it, he thought.

  The chanting grew louder as the carcass of the stag, by now so swollen that it was barely recognisable, started to emit bright green lights from the stab holes and burst ulcers and boils.

  As the green lights grew brighter, so the swelling increased until the animal’s joints popped from their sockets and its bones cracked under the strain of its body’s expansion. The skin on its ribcage stretched and strained around one of the puncture sites until it split wide apart.

  Bursting forth from the animal’s chest cavity was a gauntleted fist. It was quickly followed by another fist and then a helmeted head complete with a gorget and huge bull-like horns which protruded from either side, pointing forward.

  The cultists cheered as the creature emerged from the body of the stag. Standing twenty five-foot tall, it wore a massive suit of dark-green armour, covered in slime and long strands of dank waterweed. It was heavily muscl
ed and hunched at the shoulders, its helmet was closed, giving no clue to its facial features save for the two huge green eyes that glowed from the darkness that lay behind its visor. It was looking around it for something, or someone.

  Tundra stood frozen in fear.

  Luthan rocked back and forth on the log, wringing his hands.

  ‘We’re here, master. Thank you for showing us mortals your true form,’ he whispered.

  ‘What…what are you?’ Tundra asked Luthan.

  Luthan had changed. His skin was bottle-green. It had turned coarse in texture and developed sores, oozing a thick, yellow discharge, which trickled down his face before dribbling onto his blood-soaked clothes.

  ‘I’m an emissary, Tundra,’ he said.

  The sores on his face cracked as he smiled, sending a cluster of scabs cascading into the swamp water below.

  ‘For whom?’ Tundra asked shakily, backing away.

  Luthan was facing him head on. He had put his clawed hands on the log he had been sitting on and coiled up. Whatever was going to happen, Tundra had a feeling it would be soon.

  ‘For the Lord of the Swamp, you fool. The god Vastigore. Your father,’ Luthan said.

  Then, he dived at Tundra, trying to claw at his chest and bite at his throat.

  Tundra sprang back but Luthan’s speed had caught him off-guard. He was knocked backwards, his sword flying. His legs jarred against a log and he went tumbling into the swamp. When he pushed his head upwards above the brown water he saw Luthan’s grotesque face looking back at him, hissing loudly with his forked tongue.

  ‘I have him, I have him,’ he shouted.

  Even lying half-submerged in the swamp with this monstrosity trying to claw at his face, Tundra could hear the heavy pounding and feel the earth shaking under the weight of Vastigore’s footsteps. He did not have time to grapple with Luthan; not if he wanted to live.

  Trying to fend off Luthan’s claws with one arm he reached behind him with the other, and pulled an arrow from his quiver, letting it slide through his grasp until his grip was a few inches from the point. He brought his arm up swiftly and thrust the point of the arrow into Luthan’s face, gouging it deep into his eye.