The Eye of Everfell

by Bard Constantine

  Darvade snatched him as he ran past, ignoring his friend's loud curses.

  "Huntsmen!" was all Darvade said as he ran on. Suddenly Godfrey passed him, long legs carrying him along like an antelope. Darvade heard the Huntsman gaining, impossible as it seemed. But they were near the end of the alley...

  A lithe black-clad warrior blocked the mouth of the alley, hurling star-shaped blades at them. Darvade and Godfrey leaped upwards, crisscrossing off the alley walls in mid-air as the blades hummed underneath.

  Darvade grasped the edge of the inn roof and hoisted himself up. The clay tiles were covered in snow and ice, almost causing him to slide right back off. He managed to right himself and ran across the rooftop without looking back.

  Something landed beside him. He whirled, snarling in rage before realizing it was Godfrey.

  "You should have gone the other way. It's better if we split up."

  Godfrey shook his head, his eyes wild. "No, we stay together. We may have to fight them."

  Darvade argued no more, and the two never flagged in their run, leaping from roof to roof. They landed lightly several streets over, looking about warily as they made their way to the stables. The horses inside whinnied nervously.

  "We have to leave town now, make for the woods." Darvade peered into the darkness as he opened the stable doors. "We can lose them in the forest."

  He threw himself aside with a wild curse as something sharp and gleaming grazed the side of his head. A Plainswoman emerged, attacking with the ferocity of a wildcat. A bejeweled eye patch covered one of her eyes. Her remaining one was narrowed in hatred as she swung a short sword in whistling arcs, so swiftly that both he and Godfrey had difficulty avoiding the vicious cuts.

  Darvade broke out in sweat. If they could not take the madwoman out, the other Huntsmen would catch up to them.

  Thought became action as he snatched a long razor from the band of his breeches. His hands blurred as the razor sought to strike the arteries he knew would end things quickly. As the woman parried desperately, Godfrey snatched a pickaxe from the stable wall. It would be over in seconds...

  Something roared.

  The horses reared and whinnied in panic as a bear tore the door off its hinges. No, not a bear–a man. A great hulking mass of muscle and rage with a double bladed axe in his burly arms. His hair was fiery red, and his beard all but smothered the roaring mouth. A Norlander without a doubt, one of those fighting men from the Norland Alpens who lived to fight, brawling their way through life with no care for the size or form of the enemy. The savage swing of his axe nearly took Godfrey's head. Godfrey ducked at the last second, snarling as he buried the point of the pickaxe deep into the Norlander's upper leg.

  The big man didn't even notice. His beefy fist shot forward, knocking Godfrey back with a crunch of splintered ribs. Only then did the Norlander pause to yank the pickaxe out with a grunt. His thick eyebrows almost buried his eyes when he glared at Godfrey.

  "You'll pay for that, wraith."

  Darvade finally managed to bring himself within the arc of the woman's furious sword thrusts. He snatched her sword arm down, and as she fumbled for one of her daggers on her vest, his other hand brought the razor to her lovely neck.

  Agony exploded in his left shoulder. He turned to see a feathered shaft protruding. The Huntsmen from the alley ran toward them. The smaller one already had another arrow nocked to his bow.

  "We leave now!" He shoved the woman hard. She sailed back and slammed against the stable wall before hitting the hay-covered floor.

  Godfrey leaped over her and landed on the back of a screaming horse. It reared wildly and nearly threw him off. Darvade focused Coercion as he mounted another, soothing the steed immediately.

  He turned to Godfrey. "Get that beast under control!"

  The Norlander closed in, his battle-axe whirring. Darvade focused Transference as he pointed at the Norlander. He was not strong with the Craft, but the ripple of pure force knocked the big man completely off his feet. At any other time, his startled yelp would have been amusing.

  Darvade felt the ripples of Eler as Godfrey focused Scintilla, the Craft of fire.

  The lamppost next to the approaching Huntsmen exploded in a ball of flame so bright and blistering that they were flung to the ground shielding their faces.

  That was all the time Darvade and Godfrey needed. They spurred their horses forward, galloping hard down the road leading out of town. Luck. They would need more of it if they were to make it through the night alive.

  They had a good head start, and their horses ran in sheer terror. The beasts could sense that they had not men on their backs, but something that filled their animal senses with dread, spurring them forward ever faster. Darvade looked over his shoulder. The Huntsmen were swift to mount the remaining horses, but they were not gaining. It looked as though he and Godfrey would be able to lose them in the forest.

  When they reached the outskirts of the woods, a terrible scream rent the air. The sound was unearthly, reverberating all around them, crawling across Darvade's skin like insect legs. His horse reared with a terrified whinny, unseating him. He hit the ground hard, cursing. When he rolled out of the way of the stamping hooves, he looked up at the apparition that rode from the fog and darkness.

  The face of Death stared back at Darvade, a black-armored giant with ember eyes flaring from its massive horned helm. The ominous figure sat atop a terrible steed that billowed gouts of fire from its nostrils. Darvade had never seen a Reaver or a Night Mare before, but he knew of them through legends that were still fearfully whispered ages after the last sightings.

  Yet it was no ghost that towered over him, no translucent specter that unsheathed a double-handled black longsword and rode a beast so monstrous that it could scarcely be called a horse. The heavily-armored death knight was terrifying real, its appearance far more dreadful than any legend could describe. The Night Mare screamed again, exhaling sulfuric fumes and streams of living fire.

  Darvade screamed as the flames ate him alive.

  Postlude: Masiki

  The Eidolon were beings from a different Age, a time when the boundaries between worlds were still malleable. Spirit, specter, phantom, ghost–Masiki had heard her ghastly guardians described by many different labels. The misinterpretation was reasonable. Only the thinnest layer of dry, crusted skin prevented their faces from being bare skulls, and their sockets flared with glimmering, unearthly light in place of eyes. Their loose-fitting robes and cloaks were beyond white; iridescent light flared from the garments that never stood still, but billowed and fluttered as though stirred by gale winds.

  But they were not spirits, nor were they undead creatures somehow bound to the living world. They were experiments, punishment inflicted by the Man with Mirrored Eyes upon his enemies, betrayers, and traitors who dared to turn against him in his time of need. Instead of profiting from their treachery, they suffered the consequences: their forms altered, their minds enslaved so their every thought was of pleasing their lord and master. In the end, they served him far more loyally than they ever did when they were human.

  Their employment came in many forms: vigilant guardians, ruthless assassins, or zealous hounds that tracked their targets across worlds if necessary. There was little that could harm the Eidolon, and even less that could destroy them. They were more energy than anything else: dark puissance in decaying flesh, cloaked in radiance, locked in subservience.

  They emerged from the wyrmhole first, silver-gauntleted hands on their longswords as they glided ahead into the mist-enshrouded terrain of what was called the Barrens. The description was apt, for the land was indeed barren, dead and devoid of all but the meanest brush and stunted grass. A wall of impenetrable fog lay directly ahead, shrouding all of what lay beyond. In front of the fog was a man who shielded his eyes from the wrymhole's brilliance with one hand even as he drew his sword with the other. Masiki smiled at his foolhardiness. Gile Noman could be called many things, but a coward was not one
of them.

  "Stay your blade, Gile. A battle against my Eidolon is one you cannot win."

  The one-eyed man dropped to his knees and thrust his battered sword into the turf. "High Lady." He bowed his grizzled head in homage. "I did not expect you to arrive so grandly."

  The wyrmhole glittered behind her. The circular threshold was framed by crystallized air, a beautiful aftereffect of distorting time and space. Creating such a portal required focus and experience that dwarfed that of any so-called master of the Crafts or the cruder form of Apokrypy. The view beyond was of shifting sands and merciless sun, the sky blue as a windless sea, devoid of even the dream of moisture. In the distance were peaks of steepled pyramids, shimmering in fever dream ripples from the heat. The threshold slowly sealed itself shut with a crystalline sound, cutting off the desolate view.

  "You speak of the wyrmhole?" Masiki smiled. "There is no one left across the whole of Erseta that possesses the power to create one. No one but me."

  "Yes, High Lady." Gile kept his eyes cast to the ground.

  "Rise, Gile. It is time that you know what your next task is to be. Do you know what lies behind this fog?"

  Gile stood, glancing warily at the Eidolon, who stood on either side of Masiki with their brilliant robes fluttering despite the absence of wind. They gazed back with hatred on their skeletal faces, deep-rooted detestation of everything that lived and walked about freely.

  "I've heard rumors." Gile repressed a shudder and turned his good eye toward the shifting mass that shrouded the view a few paces away. "The Epanos people say the lands of the fog are cursed. Others say the lands beyond contain more riches than a man can dream of." He shrugged. "Many fortune-hunters have gone into the mists. None of them has ever come out. They say Tristan the Bright led his Victorious Legion within, seeking the holy Sword of Deis. He was never heard of again either."

  Masiki nodded. "Beyond the mists is where you must go."

  Gile's neck tightened, but to his credit, he did not hesitate. "As you command, High Lady."

  Masiki laughed delightedly. "That is why I have chosen you for my cat's-paw, Gile Noman. You do not have enough sense to acknowledge your fears, so you swallow them and tread where even the bravest would tremble."

  "You...have given me a chance." Gile spoke hesitantly, as though not familiar with expressing himself. "I was...nothing. You made me what I am now. I will do whatever you ask."

  "Yes, you will. I do not doubt that." Masiki gazed into the line of billowing fog, where ghostlike shapes shifted forms and phantom lights played tricks on the eyes. "Beyond this fog is Aceldama, where the Co'nane reside. There you will find Alaric Aelfvalder, their lordly king."

  "What will I do when I stand before him?" Gile's battered face was expressionless. Masiki knew he was prepared to do whatever asked; even should that be to slay the legendary and powerful lord of the Co'nane. Since his transformation, there was nothing that Gile would not do. He was her slave of his own free will, which made his services all the more effective. No one performed his tasks with more gusto than Gile, after all.

  "You are to bring him news of his death," Masiki said. "And with that, fan the flames that will consume the world."

  End of Book One of the Shadow Battles

  Shadow Battles Continues

  THE SAGA THAT BEGAN with the Eye of Everfell continues with the epic sequel!

  The kingdom of Leodia is in chaos after their beloved king's murder. Fallen knight Marcellus Admorran is missing, while rumors run wild of a dark rider that stalks the night. As the land is smothered by winter, Nyori Sharlin seeks allies to keep Eymunder out the hands of Alaric, the calculating and deadly Lord of the Co'nane. And in the other side of the Dragonspine, Valdemar Basilis prepares for the great war to come.

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  Enjoy The Eye of Everfell?

  THANKS FOR CHECKING out this installment of the Shadow Battles series. I truly hope you enjoyed your time in Erseta. I’d love to keep writing these novels, but I need just a little help from you. Reviews help a great deal in spreading the word, which in turn helps sell more books. Which in turn allows me to keep writing. It doesn’t have to a long process: a simple 3-4 sentence review works wonders. Thanks again for reading, hope you stick around for the next installment.

  All the best,

  ~BC

  Glossary

  People

  Alaric Aelfvalder: Lord of the Co’nane. Keeper of the North when the Aelon still dwelt on Erseta, Alaric elected to remain behind after the majority of the Aelon departed from Erseta for the upper realm of Nolavani. He rose to power after the civil war with the Guelph and during the Scourge of Leilavin when the previous lord was destroyed by the Reavers. Alaric then rescued the remaining Co’nane at the risk of his soul when he descended into Ersetla Tari in order to bond with Mothros, a powerful fusorb.

  Alexia Admorran: five year old daughter of Marcellus Admorran

  Anon Misral: an ambitious member of the Malic Sect, assigned to Vivienne of the Obdura Sect to aid in overthrowing the nation of Kaerleon. While there, Anon assumed the guise of the Imperial Captain to further his assigned goals.

  Anko: called the Shadow Prince. Legend paints Anko as the eternal enemy of Talan the Dawnrider, presumably slain in the Battle of Khelios. He is sometimes depicted as an inhuman shadow figure, others as a proud and jealous human lord of shadowy creatures. His origins are unknown.

  Ayna Tlalli: an especially gifted Shama hailing from the Northern Steppes.

  Brandon the Paladin: the last Paladin of the Five Sages. Brandon is especially noted in lore for forsaking the fusorb Nemon, freeing the entrapped lives that the legendary sword held captive.

  Cully Golder: former Kaerleon infantryman, current innkeeper and tradesman in Letega.

  Darroth Basilis: a warlord who became king of Bruallia, Darroth was notorious for his vicious acts of torture and a dangerously paranoid temperament. Responsible for establishing Bruallia as a military juggernaut before being assassinated by agents from Komura.

  Dradyn: former soldier who retired to the quiet life of a groundskeeper for Lord Admorran in Royan.

  Eagle Eye: a scout for the Onosho caste.

  Endran Lucretius: the first king of Kaerleon, renowned in song and lore for his exploits and those of his legendary Lion Knights.

  Eretik: an agent from the Arcana Sect, assigned to assume the guise of Regnault Lucretius in Kaerleon.

  Evelina Admorran: wife of Marcellus Admorran.

  Fregeror: a Norlander, nephew of Jolgeirr Arnmoor of the Companions. Joined the Huntsmen of Rhanu’bis after losing his firstborn to the akhkharu.

  Ganbatar Basilis: Lord General of the Dragonist Order and older brother of Valdemar Basilis.

  Gile Noman: former mercenary and pit fighter, now an agent in service to Masiki, called the High Lady.

  Han: one of the Huntsmen of Rhanu’bis, hailing from the distant land of Honguo.

  Harlin Masters: Doorkeeper for the King. Despite being portly in form, Harlin is light on his feet and a master swordsman. His weapon of choice is a poisoned rapier.

  Ironhide: a warrior of the Onosho caste and a Nahgual, able to take on animal forms.

  Jacquelis Morandal: Caretaker of the Blood. She is responsible for the preservation of the Co’nane legacy and purity of bloodlines.

  Jaslin Le Feuvre: second son of a powerful Lord of Parand who scorned the courtly life to become a soldier and second in command to Marcellus Admorran.

  Josef Geor: former soldier, currently serving in the Royal Guard.

  Kusagra: the totem companion of Riodran, usually seen in the form of a lion.

  Leilavin: a powerful being whose past is shrouded. Legend claims that she betrayed Stygan, leading to his imprisonment in the fiery realm of Narak after he scorned her love. Fearing
his retribution, she bargained with the remaining Aelon, granting them a perverse sort of immortality in exchange for their service. After their rebellion she created the Reavers to destroy them.

  Lian the Dragon Queen: the last Dragon Queen of the Five Sages.

  Lively: a dappled mare owned by Nyori Sharlin

  Tyros Malgard: a short-lived High Lord of Parand, deposed and made a captive of the Mandru castes after attempting to claim land and build a city at the fringes of the Great Steppes, an event known as Malgard’s Trespass.

  Man With Mirrored Eyes: a prisoner of extraordinary power held captive in a realm of fire.

  Marcellus Admorran: a legendary knight, hero of song and story. Renowned for his heroic deeds, including slaying a dragon and leading his own brotherhood of famous knights known as the Companions. Anointed as Champion of Kaerleon by King Regnault Lucretius.

  Masiki: The chief Acolyte of the Man with Mirrored Eyes, known as the High Lady to her servants.

  Meshella: warrior woman from the Mountain Shadow caste, joined with the Huntsmen of Rhanu’bis after her husband and children were slain by the akhkharu.

  Micholas de Rodrez: a court musician from Barsena, joined with the Huntsmen of Rhanu’bis after his beloved was slain by the akhkharu.

  Murdon Abchanchu: an agent of the Obdura sect, able to change his appearance at will.

  Nando Tlalli: twin brother of Ayna Tlalli and a Nahgual, able to take on animal forms.

  Nyori Sharlin: newly anointed Shama of the Northern Steppes and bearer of the geod Eymunder.

  Pale Lord: a title used by one of the Five Sages, last bestowed upon Alaric Aelfvalder.

  Rhanu’bis: meaning ‘Godslayer’. A former soldier from Hykupta that defied his people’s gods and destroyed them before becoming an exile and hunter of the odji, known as akhkharu to those in the Upper Kingdoms.