Shadow Magic

by Patricia C. Wrede

  One of the archers stepped forward. “Who are you, and what are your cities?” she demanded in faintly accented Kyrian.

  “I am Har Tel’anh of Brenn, and this is my friend Maurin Atuval of the Traders,” Har said steadily.

  “I see,” said the same Wyrd in a skeptical tone. She pondered for a moment, then raised her head and snapped several commands in a language Maurin did not recognize. Half the archers lowered their bows and slipped away among the trees.

  Turning back to Maurin and Har, the Wyrd said, “You will come with us. If you are who and what you claim, you have nothing to fear.” She turned away.

  Maurin and Har exchanged glances. One of the other Wyrds gestured with his bow. Maurin nodded, Har shrugged, and the two men remounted and started off through the forest, surrounded by Wyrds.

  The small furred people had no trouble keeping pace with the tired horses. They rode in silence. Twice the humans heard a high call piping through the woods, and their guides answered in kind.

  Nearly an hour and a half later, the Wyrds stopped outside a stand of trees. Their leader sent the piping summons ringing through the forest; a moment later the bushes rustled softly as yet another Wyrd appeared. He spoke briefly with the archers in the same unknown language, then turned to the two horsemen.

  He looked toward Maurin first, a long, penetrating gaze. When he seemed satisfied at last, he turned to Har. A moment later he smiled and said something else to the archers, who nodded. He looked back at Har. “I told them you spoke the truth. You have the look of your sister, Har Tel’anh.”

  “Alethia! How do you know about her? Where is she? Is she safe?” Har demanded. Maurin fought back the questions that rose to his own lips. Alethia was Har’s sister; he had the right to ask. Besides, there was no point in repeating what Har had just said.

  “Your sister spent last night with us,” the Wyrd replied. “She is quite safe, for now at least. I think more detailed explanations can wait. Will you dismount, and let us see to your horses?”

  A wave of relief swept Maurin as he swung out of the saddle, and he saw it mirrored in Har’s face. Somehow, he did not doubt the Wyrd’s words.

  Har dismounted more slowly, and looked at the Wyrd. “I thank you for your hospitality toward my sister,” he said slowly. “But we still don’t know where this is, or who you are. And how did Alethia come to be here?”

  “This is Glen Wilding, and I am Grathwol, Arkon of the Wyrds who live here,” said the Wyrd patiently, with a small smile. “Now, come and dine with me; I think we have much to talk of.”

  Har still looked skeptical, but he followed Grathwol without further comment. Maurin trailed after, studying his surroundings with curiosity. The Wyrd led the two men to the great entry hall. He crossed it quickly and entered a smaller room off to one side, where a table was loaded with wild fruits, bread, honey, and several platters of cold venison. Grathwol seated himself at the head and motioned to Maurin and Har to take the two remaining seats.

  As they ate, Grathwol told them in detail the story of Alethia’s kidnapping and escape, her meeting with Tamsin, and her second encounter with the Lithmern. When he reached the description of the Talisman of Noron’ri, Har leaned forward with an exclamation. “Could they have used that to travel two days journey from Brenn in one night?” he asked.

  “Yes, and more,” Grathwol replied. “They used it to summon the mists that delayed your sister and Tamsin, and they counted on its power to hide their passage from us. They very nearly succeeded,” he added thoughtfully.

  Har looked at Maurin triumphantly. “I thought the traces looked odd.”

  Maurin nodded; it was all he was capable of. There were magicians in the south, in Kith Alunel and Rathane and some of the islands of the Melyranne sea, but on the rare occasions that they dealt with Traders, it was the Master Traders who saw them. He had never dealt with magic himself, and his tired brain was having trouble taking in the details of Grathwol’s tale of Wyrds and Lithmern and ancient magic.

  Grathwol finished the tale with an explanation of where Alethia and Tamsin had gone and why. Har frowned.

  “I can understand why Alethia wants to get home quickly,” he said, “but she should not travel alone. Can we catch up with her before your people turn north?”

  “They left early this morning,” Grathwol replied. “You are only about two hours behind them; if you push your horses, you may arrive at the Ward-Keeper’s cottage today, though it will be after dark when you get there.”

  “Our horses are tired,” Har said, “but I would like to try, if it pleases you to furnish a guide.”

  “I can furnish you with guides, indeed, and more,” Grathwol said with a gleam of satisfaction. “Fresh horses are yours to command, as soon as you have rested.”

  “Then we shall leave as soon as your preparations are completed,” Har said firmly. “It is no reflection on your hospitality, but I do not wish to lose more time.”

  Grathwol smiled. “Of course.” He clapped his hands and gave a few brief orders to the servitor who appeared in response to this summons. As the Wyrd left, he turned back to the two men. “I thought we would find a use for those horses we captured! But finish your meal at your leisure; it will be a little time before they are ready.”

  The two men nodded in agreement, yet in a surprisingly short time they were finished. Grathwol smiled to himself and signaled again. Another Wyrd appeared to lead Maurin and Har through the halls of Glen Wilding to the place where the fresh horses waited.

  Without further ado, Maurin and Har bid Grathwol thanks and farewell, and made their way out into the forest once more. Two taciturn archers were already mounted on the ponies the Wyrd preferred. An instant more and the men were astride their horses. The Wyrd stood silently watching as for the second time that day, a party left Glen Wilding headed west toward the Kathkari.

  Chapter 7

  FOR THE EARLY PART of the morning, Alethia rode at the back of the party with Worrel, with whom she was fast becoming friends. The two chatted easily for some time, except when Anarmin called for silence from the front of the column. Unfortunately, the track they rode was barely wide enough for two horses side by side, so when Worrel moved forward to take his turn with Rarn at the head of the party, Alethia moved back to her original position next to Tamsin.

  The five Wyrds changed positions several more times during the morning. The ride was uneventful, though twice the party halted for some reason known only to their guides. Neither Alethia nor Tamsin saw or heard anything to indicate a dangerous presence or its passing, but they complied without argument to the dictates of their companions. When they came upon the fresh marks of huge claws six inches deep in the trail shortly after the second halt, their respect for the Wyrds’ advice increased enormously.

  Around noon Rarn and Worrel, who were riding a little in advance of the rest, halted abruptly. They had not signaled for silence, so Tamsin rode forward. “What is it?” Tamsin asked with a worried frown as he and Alethia reached them. “More trouble?”

  “No,” said a voice from behind him. Alethia turned to see that Anarmin had ridden up to them, and was dismounting. The Wyrd gave them a broad grin. “Not trouble. Lunch!”

  Alethia laughed. Tamsin dismounted, but before he reached her to lift her from her horse, she kicked her feet free of the stirrups and slid to the ground unaided. The Wyrds were clearly accustomed to breaking their journey at this point, for their ponies walked quietly to a nearby bush as soon as their riders were down and waited patiently to be tethered. Beneath the bush, where only a torrential rain might reach it, lay a neat stack of firewood.

  The Wyrds evidently intended to make only a brief stay, for they did not even glance at the stacked wood. Instead, Worrel and Rarn unpacked huge quantities of bread and slabs of cold meat and cheese from the saddlebags, while Murn spread a cloth on the ground to receive it. Anarmin disappeared into the woods even before Shallan had the horses tethered. He returned just as the other Wyrds finished
laying out the meal, carrying a large honeycomb.

  “The little ones are generous today!” Anarmin called as he came into sight. “See my hard-won sweets!”

  “Hard-won, indeed!” Worrel grinned at him. “Stay by some time and learn the meaning of work! I’ll wager you find some other excuse to be gone come time for packing up. Give it here!”

  “You wrong me; indeed, you wrong me!” Anarmin responded in an injured tone. “Why! Was it not I who single-handedly prepared dinner for twice this number when last we passed this way?”

  “Yes, and single-handedly ate most of it, too!” Rarn replied tartly. “Come on, we haven’t got the whole day to stand about talking.”

  Anarmin snorted, but passed the honeycomb down to Worrel, who placed it with the rest of the lunch. There was some further good-natured bickering among the Wyrds as they laid out the food, but in a short time all was ready, and the party sat down on a springy bank of moss to a meal of cold venison and cheese and dark bread spread with honey.

  When they finished eating, the Wyrds packed the remains in the saddlebags once more. Despite the efficiency of the Wyrds and Anarmin’s grumbles, the party again started forward nearly an hour and a half after they had stopped. Rarn set a quicker pace for the afternoon ride, and there was less talk exchanged. They rode with an air of tension, for they had passed outside the boundaries of the land known and controlled by the Wyrds of Glen Wilding, and the danger was increased.

  The strained atmosphere subdued even Alethia. She rode for some time in silence beside Tamsin, and watched the shadows warily. The browns and dappled greens that had seemed cool and refreshing that morning now looked sinister and gloomy. The ground was covered inches deep in mold, built up by years of leaves rotting undisturbed, and the horses’ hooves made no noise on the crumbling surface. For the most part, there was no cover between the ancient tree trunks, but from time to time a break in the thick foliage overhead had allowed a dense group of shrubs to spring up.

  The Wyrds detoured around the first two thickets, but at the third Tamsin suggested that the two horses go first to force a passage for the Wyrd’s ponies. Murn was growing concerned at the extra time the detours had cost them, and she agreed.

  Tamsin and Starbrow went first, and Alethia followed. Forcing a path through the dense growth was difficult even for the horses, but it was still faster than going around. When they reached the other side, Alethia turned in the saddle to observe the Wyrds as they made their way through the thicket.

  Suddenly something struck her squarely in the middle of her back. The force of the blow spun her from the saddle, and she fell to the ground barely clear of the bushes. The fall knocked the wind from her, and for what seemed an eternity she lay there fighting for breath. Then she pushed herself up and looked back.

  Only a few seconds had passed. Tamsin had pulled his sword free and was swinging it down in a vicious arc that ended squarely in the middle of Alfand’s now empty saddle. Alethia screamed once in protest, and then there was a small squishing noise as the flat of the sword landed. The frightened mare jumped forward, but Starbrow had already moved to bar her path. The Wyrds came quickly up to them, and Anarmin and Shallan quieted the mare while the others stopped by Alethia.

  Tamsin dismounted and leaned against Starbrow’s side. A thick black goo dripped slowly from the end of his sword, but he did not seem to be aware of it. He looked a little white. “Alethia, are you all right?” he asked.

  “I think so. What happened?” Alethia asked.

  Rarn answered her. “A janaver dropped from the trees. It would have landed on your head if Tamsin had not seen it in time and pushed you out of the way. It is dead.”

  Alethia shuddered, and looked at the mare. She could see three of the thing’s ten legs still hanging from the saddle, the claws dripping green poison. The globular, black-tufted body had been smashed by Tamsin’s sword. Murn and Rarn examined Alethia carefully; Anarmin performed the same office for the mare.

  “She has not been touched,” Rarn declared at last. “Which is fortunate; there is no antidote for a janaver’s poison. Now you, minstrel.”

  “What?” asked Tamsin, a little dazedly.

  “The blood of the janaver is as poisonous as their claws,” Worrel explained, “though it does not act as fast. Did any strike you?”

  Tamsin denied it, but the Wyrds were not satisfied until they had examined him themselves. This task Worrel and Anarmin performed, while Rarn and Shallan hunted through the saddlebags. Eventually they emerged with a small bottle of dark green fluid with which they carefully cleaned every drop of the janaver’s blood from Alethia’s saddle and Tamsin’s sword.

  When the Wyrds were satisfied at last, the party set off once again. “At least we aren’t likely to come across another one,” Worrel said as they left. “The janaver do not like to hunt close together.”

  “There should not have been one here,” Murn murmured with a frown. “Janaver are tree dwellers; they avoid the sun-openings and keep to the thickest parts of the Wyrwood.”

  “Perhaps this was a young one traveling to find a new territory of its own,” suggested Shallan. “They frequently wander through unexpected areas before they become established.”

  “Perhaps,” Murn said, but she was very thoughtful for the remainder of the ride.

  Janaver were not the only danger, and the party proceeded carefully. For the rest of the afternoon, however, they saw nothing more alarming than a deer fleeing their passage. Despite the delays, they reached the first low hills of the mountains late in the afternoon. The light was fading as the Wyrds urged their companions through a maze of trees and vines. Tamsin was a little behind Alethia as she reached the top of the second hill and exclaimed, “Oh, is that where we are going?”

  Tamsin rode up beside her. “No wonder you are intimidated. I have never seen anything so dark in my life! Why, you can’t see two feet in front of the horses.”

  Alethia looked at him in bewilderment. “I don’t understand you. It is a little dark, but the path to the house is clear. We shall be there in a few minutes. Look, Rarn is halfway down already.”

  Now it was Tamsin’s turn to be puzzled. “I don’t see anything at all,” he said slowly.

  “But you must!” Alethia exclaimed. “There is a little stone house ringed by a wall, with a garden and a well and all the windows lighted. And there is a stable in back. Oh, come on!”

  With that she turned Alfand down the hill. Almost immediately she vanished from Tamsin’s sight. Tamsin frowned and pressed S?arbrow forward, but he got only a short distance. Horse and man stopped short in total blackness, unable to see anything ahead of them. Even the footfalls of the ponies sounded muffled and far away. Then, from behind them, Worrel shouted, “Jordet! Lift your curtain!”

  A moment later Tamsin sat blinking in the normally dying twilight of the forest. He looked down to see Alethia a little ahead of him, waving him toward a small cottage of gray stone, just as she had described. Smoke from the chimney blew toward the hillside, bringing with it an inviting aroma of meat roasting, and the cheery glow of the windows cast a dim halo of light within the encircling wall. Somewhat bemused, Tamsin clucked to Starbrow, who shook his mane and proceeded down the hill.

  Rarn and Shallan had already reached the cottage and dismounted when Alethia and Tamsin rode up with the other Wyrds. As they slid down from their horses, the door of the cottage opened and a tall young man stood framed in the doorway. Alethia and Tamsin could not make out his face clearly, but his voice was light and merry as he welcomed them. “What brings you here, and at such a time, my friends?”

  “We have an urgent errand to Eveleth, Jordet,” Murn replied.

  “An errand to Eveleth—with humans in your company?” The Shee’s tone remained friendly, but his curiosity was evident.

  “This is Alethia of Brenn, and a minstrel, Tamsin by name. They are bound for Brenn and we escort them this far. We had planned to stay the night, if it will not trouble you, tho
ugh it is not the best of manners to descend on you without warning.”

  “Indeed, it were small thanks for the past kindnesses of the Wyrds of Glen Wilding to let you spend the night outside this shelter, so close to the Kathkari,” Jordet replied. “And it would be smaller honor to allow one of Alethia’s lineage to seek refuge elsewhere.”

  “I thought as much,” Worrel muttered under his breath.

  Murn shot him a sharp look and inclined her head. “The Keeper of the South Ward is the image of hospitality.”

  “Besides, I have never known that the South Ward is on any common path to Brenn,” the man said. “It should make an interesting tale, I think. Now, tell me of this errand.”

  “Not now,” Murn said. “This is not the place for such talk. We will answer your questions inside when our ponies have been stabled.”

  “Very well,” Jordet replied calmly. “You will not object to these others coming in, I trust? The evening air grows cold.”

  Without waiting for a reply, he turned to Alethia and Tamsin and motioned them into the cottage with a bow. “I must apologize for the inconvenience I caused you; if I had known you were coming I would have lifted the curtain before you arrived. It is a small spell and no hindrance to the Wyrds, but no human eyes can see in or through it. It is our major protection along the edge of these mountains, though here it is seldom needed. But come in, I keep you standing too long.”

  As their host led them inside, Tamsin said in a puzzled tone, “Indeed, this curtain is effective, though I do not think it would prevent a determined man from penetrating it. But how is it that Alethia could see through it when…” His voice trailed off as Jordet turned to face them and he and Alethia got their first clear look at the Shee Ward-Keeper.