Shadowless

by Randall McNally

‘Stay here,’ Corlúka said, climbing down from the cart. ‘I won’t be long.’

  The Dragon’s Rest Inn was a modest establishment in a quiet part of town. It survived on the custom of its regular clientele who appreciated its owner’s no-nonsense approach to raucous guests and drunken behaviour. Its interior was dimly lit. A burly man with a bushy moustache stood behind the bar, cleaning glasses. Corlúka leaned over the counter.

  ‘I’m looking for a man who goes by the name of Krysteról,’ he said quietly.

  ‘You’ve found him.’

  ‘I’ve been sent by Fürisyn. She wants me to give you a message.’

  The barman signalled for Corlúka to follow him before stepping through a door into a back alley full of barrels. When both men were outside the barman closed the door and grabbed Corlúka, pushing him against the wall.

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘What? What are you doing?’ Corlúka protested.

  ‘No one’s heard from her in days.’

  ‘That’s because she’s recovering in my home.’

  The barman loosened his grip. Corlúka backed away and straightened out the creases in his shirt.

  ‘Recovering from what?’

  ‘I found her four nights ago, she was surrounded by dead Shadow Watchers; I put her into my cart and took her home. My wife has been tending to her wounds and although her injuries are improving she’s still badly hurt.’

  ‘We thought she was dead.’

  ‘Look, Fürisyn sent me here to deliver a message. She said to tell you that she has the scroll and needs transport out of the city.’

  The barman ushered Corlúka back into the inn. Reaching under the counter, he brought out a ledger and flicked through the pages until he found the one he wanted. He wrote on it then ripped it out of the book, folded it, and gave it to Corlúka.

  ‘Give this to Fürisyn. It’s the details of a cargo ship whose captain will provide her with transport without asking questions. The vessel’s due to depart tonight. I’ll send word for someone to be waiting at the pier just after sunset.’

  The sun was low in the sky as the pair arrived home after buying provisions. Corlúka put his new horse into the stables while Magdí brought in the food. Puthka was sitting in the front room, staring at the floor.

  ‘Where’s Delân?’ Magdí asked.

  Puthka sat with her head bowed, in silence.

  ‘I said, where’s Delân?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Puthka snapped.

  ‘I left you looking after him,’ she said. ‘You’re telling me you don’t know where he is?’

  ‘You know what he’s like. I’m sure he’s out playing somewhere.’

  ‘It’s getting dark. He’s six,’ Magdí shouted.

  Corlúka came into the room, with Fürisyn leaning on him for support.

  ‘What is wrong?’

  ‘It’s Delân. She doesn’t know where he is.’

  Before Corlúka could speak, the front door opened and Delân walked in, smiling.

  ‘Where were you?’ Magdí shouted, throwing her arms round him.

  ‘I was running an errand, for Grandma.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, now,’ Puthka said, laughing. ‘As if I would make him run an errand.’

  ‘But you did,’ Delân protested.

  ‘What sort of errand?’ Fürisyn asked.

  ‘I had to go to the guard barracks.’

  ‘Don’t be lying, now,’ Puthka scoffed. ‘Honestly, this little tinker’s imagination gets more far-fetched every day.’

  ‘What did your grandma ask you to do?’ Magdí asked, bending down and looking Delân in the eye.

  ‘Grandma sent me with a note and told me I had to deliver it to them or bad things would happen.’

  A stunned silence descended on the room. Corlúka was the first to break it.

  ‘What’s the meaning of this?’

  ‘It is quite simple,’ Fürisyn explained. ‘I refused to transfer her ailments to a young boy from the streets so she has sent a message to the guards to let them know that I am here. In around five minutes there will be a squad of Shadow Watchers coming through that door who will butcher every person in this house.’

  ‘Is this true, Mother?’

  Puthka kept staring at the floor, grinding her teeth and nodding slightly.

  ‘If you and your son want to live then we need to leave now,’ Fürisyn snapped. ‘The Shadow Watchers will spare no one.’

  Magdí stared at her mother.

  ‘Didn’t you hear her? If we don’t leave now, we’re all dead,’ Corlúka shouted.

  ‘What’s happening, Mummy?’ Delân asked, pulling at his mother’s tunic.

  Magdí glanced at her son.

  ‘We’ll need to pack.’

  ‘You do not have time for that,’ Fürisyn shouted. ‘They are on their way now. You need to leave immediately.’

  Magdí picked up Delân and ran to the back door.

  ‘Follow her and ready the cart,’ Fürisyn snapped at Corlúka. ‘I will be out in a second.’

  Fürisyn pressed her arm tightly against her ribs, to ease the pain, and approached the wheelchair. She could see the fear in Puthka’s eyes as she tried to edge her chair away.

  ‘You stupid woman,’ Fürisyn started. ‘One more night and I would have been gone, but you could not wait; you just had to let the guards know that I was here.’

  ‘You’ve ruined the lives of this family,’ Puthka hissed.

  ‘No, you have done that yourself, Puthka. If you are lucky the Shadow Watchers will give you a quick death. Either way, good luck in hell,’ she said, before getting her satchel and hobbling out of the back door.

  Corlúka had just finished preparing the horse and cart as Fürisyn appeared.

  ‘What about Mother?’

  ‘Forget about her. Your son is your main priority,’ Fürisyn said as she gingerly pulled herself up on the cart. ‘We need to leave.’

  Corlúka shook the reins and they set out.

  It was twilight in Thanatüs and the braziers and torches on the pavement had just been lit. There was a faint smell of burning charcoal being carried down the street by the cool evening breeze.

  As Corlúka drove the cart onto the main road a shrill voice rang out in the otherwise quiet neighbourhood.

  ‘Stop.’

  A pack of light-blue-cloaked guards were running down the street towards them.

  ‘Quickly, get us out of here,’ Fürisyn commanded.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘To the harbour.’

  Corlúka shook the reins frantically and shouted at the horse to move. The animal took off and the cart sped down the street and into the night, the shouting of the guards ringing in their ears.

  The cart hurtled through the narrow backstreets of Thanatüs, not stopping. It became dark, a chill forming in the air. Corlúka pulled the cart to the kerb before turning to Fürisyn.

  ‘I think we’ve lost them.’

  ‘Where is Grandma?’ Delân asked.

  Magdí put her arms around him before turning to her husband and Fürisyn. ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘I will think of something,’ Fürisyn said.

  ‘Think of something? I’ve just lost my mother and most likely my home.’

  ‘We had no choice but to leave…’ Corlúka started.

  ‘I am sorry, Magdí,’ Fürisyn interjected. ‘But, it was your mother who told the guards I was hiding at your home. She alerted them, all because I would not transfer her afflictions to a young boy. Now we can sit around arguing about this or we can get to the harbour and work out how we are going to resolve this.’

  Corlúka looked at both women and shook his head. He shook the horse’s reins and the cart once again began to move.

  Füris
yn began to smell salty sea air. Cheers and jeers could be heard in the distance as Corlúka steered the cart around the area with the taverns and inns, and down to where the ships were anchored.

  ‘Pier Seven,’ Fürisyn said. ‘The water is too shallow for the Nightingale to dock so we will have to get a rowing boat out to it.’

  The cart rolled down the road towards the pier, its steel wheel-rims clattering on the cobblestones. Fürisyn held on to her satchel tightly and thought about the problems her presence had brought to Corlúka and his family.

  It is a price worth paying, she thought. This scroll has to be kept safe.

  They were passing a junction when she noticed another group of men in light-blue cloaks, some holding lanterns while others were armed with crossbows. They fanned out across the street and raised their crossbows in unison, pointing them at the cart.

  ‘Get down,’ Fürisyn shouted.

  Crossbow bolts peppered the horse and cart as everyone in it ducked for cover.

  The horse squealed in pain and reared before taking off, jolting Fürisyn to the rear of the cart. They sped down the harbour as the guards fired another hail of bolts. The cart bounced along the road and Fürisyn could hear Corlúka struggling to control the injured horse. She looked back and saw the Shadow Watchers running after them. Then Delân began crying.

  The horse slowed before stopping at the steps leading down to the pier.

  Fürisyn clambering down from the cart. She looked up and saw Magdí slumped back in the seat with a crossbow bolt lodged in her chest, blood spattered over her white tunic. Corlúka was wailing as he cradled his wife. Magdí was whimpering while trying to speak, presumably in shock.

  The Shadow Watchers were coming closer.

  Down the steps to the pier a rowing boat was docked, its owner shouting and waving, trying to get her attention.

  ‘We have to leave,’ Fürisyn said.

  ‘My wife,’ Corlúka cried. ‘You have to fix my wife.’

  Fürisyn looked from the Shadow Watchers to the boat.

  ‘There is no time. I…’

  ‘The horse. Do the same thing that you did on the donkey.’

  The horse had been shot too. Blood was running down its neck and its head was lolling.

  ‘The horse is dying. Bring Magdí down to the pier, I will try to help her there.’

  They eased Magdí down off the cart as quickly as possible, mindful of the approaching Shadow Watchers, and carried her along the pier, Delân running after them, until they reached the rowing boat.

  ‘What’s going on? The plan was to pick up one,’ the pilot of the boat said.

  ‘The plan has changed. Get the woman into the boat,’ Fürisyn commanded.

  ‘She’s dying,’ Corlúka screamed. ‘She’ll never make it to the ship.’

  ‘What is wrong with my mummy?’ Delân sobbed.

  Magdí was trying to talk but her words were too slurred to be understandable.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Fürisyn saw the lanterns at the top of the hill, moving towards the harbour. Tears were rolling down Delân’s cheeks. A lump formed in Fürisyn’s throat. She turned to Corlúka, who was on his knees holding Magdí, and looked him in the eye.

  ‘If I save your wife will you finish what I started? I do not have time to argue, I need a yes or no.’

  Corlúka nodded, his eyes full of tears.

  ‘I’ll do anything.’

  Damn it, Fürisyn thought, opening her satchel. ‘Here is a scroll and a bag of gold pieces,’ she said, handing them over to him. ‘There is a place called Rith in the north-east of Delathorn. It has a monastery, built into a cliff. Travel there and give the scroll to a monk named Amrodan. The gold pieces you can keep. Now lay your wife on the pier.’

  Corlúka eased Magdí onto the boards of the pier. Fürisyn pushed him to the side and got to work. The Shadow Watchers were approaching, and she could hear them shouting about the dead horse and the cart.

  ‘Take a deep breath, Magdí. This is going to hurt.’

  Fürisyn pulled the bolt from Magdí’s chest. There was a spurt of blood and the woman’s eyes glazed over. She placed her hands on Magdí’s head. Light emanated from her palms and pain shot through her chest as bone splintered and skin split. Blood started to flow from the newly formed hole in her chest and she fell to one side.

  Magdí sat up.

  ‘How can we repay you?’ Corlúka asked.

  ‘The scroll… Rith,’ Fürisyn gasped.

  ‘If we’re going, it has to be now,’ the pilot snapped.

  Fürisyn pulled herself to her knees.

  ‘Leave,’ she wheezed.

  The family climbed into the boat and the pilot began rowing towards the Nightingale.

  Crawling to a post that served as one of the pier’s foundations, Fürisyn dragged herself to her feet in time to see the men running along the boardwalk. She looked down into the black water.

  ‘You’ve got nowhere left to run,’ the captain of the Shadow Watchers said.

  He and his men drew their swords.

  Putting her hand tight against her chest, Fürisyn tried to stem the blood.

  ‘That’s a nasty-looking wound you’ve got there,’ the captain said in a low voice. ‘Let’s be reasonable. All I want is the scroll.’

  Fürisyn grabbed the satchel tightly.

  ‘What’s it going to be then? I can end your suffering if you give me what I want,’ he said, his gaze falling on the satchel.

  The captain took a step forward.

  Fürisyn let herself and the satchel fall backwards into the water.

  ‘No,’ the captain shouted.

  He and his men sprang forward.

  ‘Dive in and search for her. Now. No one leaves this pier until we find this bitch.’

  The sun began to rise as High Priest Cuel and the captain of the Shadow Watchers looked out over the harbour. Fifty city guards and thirty Shadow Watchers were searching the warehouses and piers. The captain’s light-blue cloak fluttered in the early morning breeze. The high priest wrung his hands.

  ‘We’ll find her,’ the captain said.

  ‘If she was out there, you would have found her already.’

  ‘She was bleeding heavily, she won’t have got far.’

  ‘So where is the body?’

  ‘In this part of the harbour the rip-tides and undercurrents could have—’

  ‘Spare me the horseshit excuses about rip-tides and undercurrents, Captain.’

  A guard came running up the boardwalk, panting and sweating.

  ‘What is it?’ High Priest Cuel demanded. ‘Have you found her?’

  ‘No, Your Excellency. We found the body of one of our guards, Tobias Valmár; he was wedged under the supports of Pier Five.’

  ‘How did he die?’

  ‘We don’t know, Your Excellency. His clothes were stained with blood but his armour was undamaged. When we removed it, he had cuts all over his body and a hole in his chest.’

  Chapter XIV

  The Ever-Changing Face of Trisidulous Glarr

  The king gasped for breath. When he exhaled, a wheezing rattle was audible. Lying in his four-poster bed, propped up on velvet pillows, he had been drifting in and out of consciousness for two days now. Every so often, when he was awake, he strained to focus on one of his family, pointing to them with a shaking hand.

  Gathered at the bedside, the women in the room wept. The men simply looked at each other, shaking their heads.

  One of the women, the king’s oldest daughter, rushed to his side and pulled the silken sheets further around his shoulders, while her sister moved the heavy velvet drapes back to open the window.

  The old man opened his eyes again and moaned. His sunken, blood-shot eyes moved across the faces of the people by his bedside, landing on the eldest of
his four sons. He beckoned him closer.

  The tall man glanced at his siblings before moving to the old man’s side. He gently sat on the edge of the bed and took his father’s hand. It was bony and cold, the skin hanging loosely from it.

  ‘What is it, Father?’

  ‘My reign is nearing the end. I need you to do one last thing for me,’ the old man said, gasping for breath when he reached the end of the sentence.

  ‘Of course, My King, tell me what it is and I will make it so.’

  ‘I need you to…’ The old man spluttered.

  ‘Yes, Father. What?’

  ‘I need you to…’

  A hush fell over the room and everyone around the bed leaned closer to the king, hoping to hear his dying wish.

  ‘Let the Merchants’ Guild back into Landledusk,’ the old man said.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Yes, I have been too hard on them. They have been punished enough. I want you to end the embargo and let them use our ports immediately,’ he said, strength and purpose returning to his voice.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Open our ports to them and let them establish their trading routes throughout the realm. Assist them in whatever way you can,’ the old man said.

  His son nodded, bewildered. He looked at the rest of his family, seeing his confusion mirrored on their faces.

  ‘Now leave me. Fetch the healer,’ the old king commanded, his voice weak again. He turned away with a groan.

  The family trooped out of the room. The last one closed the ornate double doors behind them and the family stood in the hallway.

  ‘Are we really going to let the Merchants’ Guild back into Landledusk after what they have done?’ the youngest son asked. ‘This illness has affected his brain.’

  ‘He is our father and our king,’ the eldest son said sharply. ‘If this is his dying wish then it must be granted. Now send for the healer while I speak with Mother.’

  In the bedroom, the old man listened intently as the footsteps got fainter until they were no longer audible. A grin crept across his face. As soon as everything was quiet, he jumped from the bed and went to one of the wardrobes. At the bottom, curled in a ball, was the body of an old man with sunken eyes and a long white beard. There was a rag stuffed into his mouth.