Shadowless

by Randall McNally

  Santhom closed her eyes. Her body began to shimmer and within a few seconds had become translucent. Passing through the doors, she disappeared from sight.

  Pandimonia heard the sound of a bar sliding across the door and it opened. She could see a flight of stairs leading downwards.

  ‘Quickly.’ Santhom ran down the stairs.

  Together, using the light that spilled down through the floorboards, they began rummaging through the crates and sacks that were piled around the cellar.

  There was shouting and screaming and the sound of crackling as the blaze spread. Footsteps thudded across the tavern, sending dust through the beams and shaking the ceiling of the cellar.

  ‘Hurry up and find it,’ Santhom said. ‘They will be coming down soon.’

  ‘I’m bloody looking.’

  ‘Then look faster, they are going to be here in a…wait. I think I have found it.’

  Santhom picked up a sack from inside a crate. She carried it into the light, setting it on a barrel before opening it. A stone arm lay at the bottom of the sack. Grabbing the sack she ran up the stairs, Pandimonia at her heels, and out into the side street.

  The main doors to the tavern were wide open, the street was in chaos as people passed buckets of water to fight the blaze. Others lay on the pavement, coughing and spluttering.

  One of the people was a man, naked and with pieces of cloth crudely tied to his wrists.

  ‘Was it really necessary to burn the place down?’ Santhom asked.

  ‘Give it a rest, onion-eyes. No one died,’ Pandimonia replied, and the pair made off into the alleyway.

  Once at a safe-enough distance, Pandimonia recounted the night’s events, as they walked through the dark streets of Wyndgiríth. Still laughing, they reached the city’s main gates and disappeared into the night.

  The meeting room was in a bright and spacious stone chamber, hung with tapestries. Ornate furniture was arranged along the walls and in the middle Lord Verínton sat at a table with a male and a female adviser, all of them drinking wine.

  ‘Will this tithe not force the Merchants’ Guild elsewhere?’ he asked.

  ‘I do not see how they can go anywhere else; they need our wagons and soldiers. Without them, their presence in this realm would be greatly diminished,’ the woman, Gretchäl, pointed out.

  ‘They will not like it,’ the male adviser, Nawnel, said, taking a drink from his glass of wine.

  ‘I could not care less,’ she protested. ‘They will pass the increase on to the commoners, that is what they always do, and besides—’

  A knock at the door cut Gretchäl off.

  Lord Verínton grimaced. ‘What is it now?’

  Nawnel opened the door. A servant girl stood in the doorway.

  ‘What is it?’ Lord Verínton barked.

  ‘There is someone here to see you, My Lord.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Countess Toŕl of Mournfall and Princess Dar of Yavalon. They are here with a belated birthday gift.’

  Chapter XVII

  The Malevolent Moods of Tabitha Treegle

  It was a cloudless, late-summer night and the heavens were lit by a swathe of stars. A harvest moon poured forth its light and illuminated the land with its ghostly glow. The light gave everything a shadow: everything except the two men who were sitting by a camp fire.

  Kvältax and Lauterbur sat hunched over, each cooking small pieces of meat on sticks. Droplets of fat fell into the fire, hissing and crackling. Kvältax, a scarred and weather-beaten man dressed in leather armour and furs, withdrew his stick and touched the meat tentatively. He blew on it before popping it into his mouth.

  ‘How do you feel?’ Kvältax asked, breaking the silence.

  Lauterbur, a pale gaunt man with shoulder-length blond hair, sat motionless, seemingly transfixed by the flames.

  ‘Lauterbur?’ Kvältax said in his gruff voice, louder than before.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘I asked how you felt.’

  Lauterbur shrugged. He was wondering why he was there. Had Amrodan really insisted that he accompany Kvältax? If so, then why? Kvältax would be better off with someone who knew what they were doing.

  Kvältax had a stern expression that suggested he did not suffer fools. His scars also suggested that he had numerous less-than-friendly encounters with people. Lauterbur knew that he should answer the question, but did not know what the right response was, so he said nothing, choosing to turn his head and study his surroundings carefully: the tents and horses, the rough broken landscape and the silhouette of the mountains in the distance.

  Lauterbur rubbed his neck, dropping his head, making the tension ease a little. But Kvältax was still watching, waiting for a reply.

  ‘How do I feel? I keep getting memories of the pain,’ Lauterbur said. ‘I can still feel a tingling sensation in my calf.’

  ‘I’m not surprised, judging by the way that viper bit you. I had to cut its head off to get it to let go. How’s the rest of your memory: returning?’ Kvältax skewered another piece of meat.

  ‘Some memories are returning; others are missing. I cannot remember what happened.’

  Kvältax smiled at Lauterbur. ‘It’s like I told you earlier. You were bitten by a snake while you were sleeping. By the time I’d reached you, the viper had already filled you with venom. You died, and then you returned to life as soon as the sun rose above the horizon. A grey light, in the shape of the number four, shone from the back of your hand before fading away.’

  ‘How exactly did I die?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter?’ Kvältax rotated the meat.

  ‘It does to me,’ Lauterbur said. ‘I need you to help me fill in the gaps.’

  ‘Last night, I was woken by you screaming. A viper must have slithered into your bedroll and sunk its fangs into your leg. I tried to help, but the snake had locked its jaws and so I had to cut off its head.’

  ‘Was it over quickly?’

  Kvältax looked at the sky.

  ‘Please tell me, Kvältax.’

  Returning his gaze to Lauterbur, Kvältax sighed.

  ‘Amrodan warned me about you, Lauterbur. He said you were a strange one. No, it wasn’t quick. You screamed in pain and clutched your chest. Your body shook uncontrollably and after half an hour of coughing-up blood, you died in what seemed like intense agony. Had you have been my horse, I would have sunk my axe in your head to end your suffering.’

  Lauterbur set his stick down by his side. He put his head in his hands. When he looked up, he saw that the large horseman was staring back at him with his bright yellow eyes.

  As the chieftain of a clan of horsemen from the grassy plains of Valadöria, Kvältax was constantly involved in conflict. Defending his territory and the cattle that grazed upon it led him into skirmishes with other clans on a regular basis. When dealing with death, his pragmatism was matched only by his rationality. To his mind, it was simply something we all have to face. In almost any other part of the Northern Realms, being born without a shadow spelled certain danger, most likely resulting in immediate execution. As it was, the superstitious nomads of his tribe had seen his birth as a sign, and indeed a gift, from their heathen gods, and nurtured him. His increased strength, intelligence and prowess as a warrior had allowed him to rise quickly through the clan’s ranks, elevating him to chieftain.

  ‘Resurrection: that’s some trick, Lauterbur. My ability to levitate pales into insignificance in comparison. Many of us would kill to have the power that you have: no pun intended.’

  ‘I never asked for my power,’ Lauterbur said, looking at Kvältax out of the corner of his eye.

  ‘None of us did,’ Kvältax stated. ‘Still, it’s a handy power to have, all the same. So, is there nothing that can kill you for good?’

  ‘Amrodan once told me that the only thing able to kill me was th
e god who fathered me.’

  ‘Ah, Salamoc; the God of the Wind.’

  Lauterbur looked directly at Kvältax. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Your eyes. They’re grey: the colour of Salamoc.’

  ‘What does the colour of my eyes have to do with Salamoc?’

  ‘You’re not the sharpest of people, Lauterbur, are you? Every god has a colour. You want to find out who your father is then go to the temples and look for the priests whose robes match your eyes. You have grey eyes; priests of Salamoc wear grey robes. I have yellow eyes; priests who wear yellow robes follow Tythrin; the God of Birds.’

  Lauterbur sat unresponsive, thinking about what he had been told.

  ‘When you come back from the dead, you can’t remember your previous incarnation?’ Kvältax quizzed.

  ‘At first, I can only recall the last feelings I had before dying. It starts with the pain… always with the pain,’ Lauterbur explained, his voice breaking.

  ‘But the memories come back eventually?’

  ‘Yes. They take a week, usually; this is only the fourth time I have been killed. The memories that I’ve had the longest are usually the first to return. Right now, my mind feels like shards of broken glass. Until you told me earlier who you were, I did not remember. I have no idea how we got here or where we are going,’ he said, shaking his head despondently.

  ‘Anything you’re not sure of just ask. In the meantime, eat up; you must be hungry,’ Kvältax said, plucking a bit of meat from the stick and taking a bite. Steam billowed from his mouth.

  ‘You can start by telling me why we are here,’ Lauterbur said, setting a skewered piece of mutton on the fire.

  ‘We’re going to find the oldest, and thus the strongest, of our kind, Lauterbur. A woman who has lived in the heart of the Verínwrath Mountains for a thousand years: Tabitha Treegle.’ Kvältax spoke the name with a solemn reverence.

  ‘Who is she?’ Lauterbur was unsure if he had lost this particular memory.

  ‘She is the only one of us to have stood up to a god and survived.’

  Lauterbur sat open-mouthed, astounded.

  ‘It’s true,’ Kvältax continued. ‘Amrodan has met her.’

  ‘What did she do?’

  ‘Legend has it that Tabitha was born in a mining village over a thousand years ago. When the people there found out what she was they banished her and her father to the mountains to eke out an existence on the ridges and slopes.’

  ‘And did they do that?’

  ‘For a while, yes. Tabitha’s father, or rather her mother’s husband, was highly respected amongst the other miners and so they smuggled provisions to him in exchange for the gold that he panned from the mountain streams. This went on for many years until he was too old to work, then the food stopped. One winter’s evening, a young girl came down from the mountain in search of food.’

  ‘I’m guessing they did not welcome her with open arms.’

  ‘When they realised who she was, they tried to stone her to death.’ Kvältax wiped his mouth with his sleeve. ‘Most of us only discover our powers when our lives are in danger. I only found out that I could levitate when I fell from a tree trying to snatch a bird’s eggs. It was when the villagers threw rocks at her that Tabitha discovered her power.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘She can move objects with her mind. On that occasion, she stopped the stones as they were about to hit her, turning them back on her assailants. She crushed the skulls of her attackers, then told the remaining villagers that unless they delivered food, clothing and other necessities to her mountain-home every week, she would kill more of them.’

  Lauterbur put down his food. ‘Are you sure this is someone we want to be dealing with? She sounds dangerous.’

  ‘She has purple eyes, meaning that her father is Flaxius, the God of War, the most violent of all the gods. And you know what they say: the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.’

  ‘Why do we have to find her? To ask for help?’

  ‘Amrodan has already asked. She refused. When he said he wasn’t going to leave until she’d heard him out, she hurled rocks at him, some as big as a horse. It seems that Tabitha has become a little strange, over the years. Amrodan met the people of the village she’s been oppressing, they said her demands have become more extreme.’

  ‘Extreme?’

  ‘When she reached womanhood, Tabitha started demanding more than just food and clothes. She wanted more from the villagers. Companionship.’

  ‘They gave her a man?’

  ‘At the start, yes. But Tabitha’s mood swings and temper tantrums are as changeable as those of her real father. She quickly tired of the first man she was sent and used her power to make him fall to his death off the side of the mountain. Then she demanded another man, then another, and soon she was killing men every other month. When she ordered them to send her a boy in his late teens, they knew that something had to be done.’

  Lauterbur picked up a small piece of raw mutton and stuck it on the end of the stick, holding it over the fire.

  ‘What did they do?’

  ‘They sent a messenger to Dolasie, to tell the authorities that they had found someone without a shadow hiding in the mountains. A unit of Shadow Watchers and a high priest returned with the messenger. They were told how dangerous Tabitha was, so they summoned Flaxius. Tabitha came out of her mountain home and faced the god head-on. As he charged towards her, she ripped off part of the mountain and threw it. Each time he picked himself up, he was smashed with a barrage of boulders.’

  ‘So Tabitha killed a god?’ Lauterbur’s eyes were opened wide in amazement.

  ‘Killed? No. But she severely injured him. She battered Flaxius to within an inch of his life, but before she could finish him off he fled. Once he was gone, she turned her attention to the Shadow Watchers and the high priest, crushing them beneath tons of stone. The villagers didn’t escape her fury either; she threw rocks at them as punishment for their betrayal.’

  Lauterbur turned his meat slowly over the fire. ‘If Amrodan has already been to see her, and he has already asked for her help, and she has said no… why exactly are we going?’

  ‘We’re not going to seek her help; we’re going to rob her.’

  ‘What? She’s lived as a hermit for a thousand years. What could she have worth stealing?’

  ‘Have you heard of darconium?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s a metal that is not of this world. For as long as anyone can remember, it was thought of as a myth. It will never be found through mining, no matter how deep the miners delve. It cannot be created even by the greatest alchemists of the Northern Realms.’

  Kvältax gazed into the night sky, as through searching for something among the celestial bodies above them.

  ‘Darconium exists wherever these cursed gods come from, whichever world or plane that spawned them.’

  ‘But what is it?’

  ‘It is a metal unlike any other: it is stronger; it is lighter; it is magical.’

  ‘Magical?’ Lauterbur’s eyes lit up. ‘How?’

  ‘A weapon made from darconium becomes one with its wielder. It can read its owner’s thoughts and respond accordingly, parrying and deflecting strikes instantaneously with thought. It can cleave the toughest of armour, breaks shields and smash bone with ease.’

  ‘Have you ever seen any?’

  ‘Pieces of it have been found through the years; a shard was pulled from the ground where Stratorina Kaal fought the god Bahrôc outside Wadensbör; a fragment was found in a rock near the Lake of Sorrows where Tundra Evergreen fell.’

  ‘A shard in Wadensbör; a fragment near the Lake of Sorrows?’ Lauterbur asked. ‘What are we meant to do, scour every realm until we find enough pieces to forge a weapon?’

  ‘Flaxius had a sword made from darconium: he
dropped it when he was hit with a ton of stone during the fight with Tabitha. She has it.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  Kvältax shifted closer to Lauterbur. ‘Amrodan saw it. She has it in her home, mounted over her fireplace. A ten-foot-long sword of pure darconium. All we have to do is take it.’

  Lauterbur gulped.

  ‘And she is going to just give it to us? Kvältax, she will throw us off the mountain.’

  ‘What’s the alternative? Go home? Say to Amrodan: “Thanks, but no thanks, we’ve changed our mind”? Lauterbur, it’s about time that we fought back against the gods, and we’re going to need this metal to do so. Without darconium weapons, we don’t stand a chance.’

  ‘Kvältax, see reason; it is ten-foot long. How the hell will any of us wield it?’

  A wry smile crept across Kvältax’s face. ‘We’re not going to wield it. We’re going to transport it to Dragonov. Ermithdin Ulroch’s waiting for it.’

  ‘Ermithdin who? I’ve never heard of him.’

  ‘He’s an inventor, and alchemist. A weapons maker,’ explained Kvältax.

  ‘All right. Suppose this person is capable of breaking the weapon up into smaller pieces. Has got a forge hot enough to melt this mythical metal?’

  ‘He’ll get it hot enough to melt, don’t worry about that,’ Kvältax said. ‘Look, all I need to know is that you’re with me. We need this weapon. We’re doing this for every person who walks these realms without a shadow. Amrodan set a plan in motion centuries ago that will culminate with a battle against the monsters that hunt us. Amrodan tried asking Tabitha to help us fight them. She wouldn’t hear of it. He then asked her for the sword, she refused. So now we have to take it, by force if necessary. Are you in or out?’

  A feeling of dread settled on Lauterbur’s heart. If Kvältax was prepared to risk his life to obtain the weapon, how could he refuse?

  ‘I will help,’ he said.

  Kvältax threw an arm around Lauterbur.

  ‘We’ll get this thing to Dragonov,’ he said, smiling.

  The two men cooked mutton until the fire was reduced to embers while plotting how to succeed in the task they had been set.