Plague of Shadows

by Michael Wisehart

  Breen whistled. “It’s grown.”

  “You’ve seen this before?” Ty’s father asked.

  Breen nodded. “It was only on his shoulder last I saw.”

  From the amount of magic Ty had released against the witch, he was surprised the mark hadn’t grown all the way down to his fingers. As it was, it stopped about three or four inches above his wrist.

  Adarra leaned forward to get a better look at the intricate patterns. The curves and angles and sharp points flowed beautifully together as they wrapped completely around his arm. In some places, the designs looked almost like miniature flames; in others, beautifully crafted blades; while others still gave the appearance of something similar to lizard scales. One thing was certain: while the unique patterns seemed to be stretching farther down his arm, they were also growing denser, leaving less of his skin showing.

  “Some of these markings almost look like runes,” Adarra said, suddenly excited. “See here, and here.”

  “Do they hurt?” Orlyn asked from across the table. He, along with the rest of the council, had scooted forward to get a better view.

  “No,” Ty admitted. “At least not right now.”

  Feoldor fluffed his side whiskers. “Not now?”

  “It hurts when they spread, which seems to be when I use too much magic, something Nyalis told me that I need to learn how to control. Without the proper training, my magic could kill me.”

  The council exchanged furtive glances.

  “Is Nyalis to train you, then?” his father finally asked.

  Ty nodded. “I believe so.” He didn’t want to tell them about needing to leave home to do it. At least not yet. With everything he had put his family through, the last thing he wanted was to up and leave. Besides, he had a few things he needed to do first before he could think about going off on some quest for Nyalis. Namely, finding Mangora.

  Breen saved him from having to say anything further. After taking a long pull of his mulled cider, his brother proceeded to finish their tale by describing the boat ride down the river. Gilly beamed with pride as more than a few of the members smiled and nodded their admiration down the table to him.

  Ty’s father laid his hand on Ty’s and squeezed. “It’s good to have you back home and safe.” He glanced at Breen. “Both of you.”

  Breen cast a wary glance at Ty, and their father caught the look.

  “What is it?”

  Blazes, Breen! Ty could have choked his brother. Why did he have to go and do that? Ty tried thinking up a plausible reason for the look, but with the pressure of everyone sitting there staring at him, he couldn’t concentrate. Wringing his hands under the table, he finally sighed. “I can’t stay.”

  “Can’t stay?” His father leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “What do you mean, you can’t stay?”

  “I’ve been told I have to leave.”

  Adarra stared across the table. “Leave? Leave where?”

  “What’s going on?” his father asked, his expression growing more serious.

  Ty pulled out the pouch Nyalis had given him and removed the silver compass, laying it on the table for everyone to see.

  Those closest leaned forward to get a peek.

  “Nyalis wants me to find an ancient school for wizards called Aero’set and bring it back.”

  “Bring it back?” Orlyn shifted in his seat, his baggy sleeves hanging loose over the side of the table. “Where is it now?”

  Ty shrugged. “I don’t know. Nyalis said it’s important. He seems to think that without it, we won’t survive what’s coming.”

  “You mean the White Tower?” Reloria asked.

  Ty shrugged again. “I’m not sure.” He was getting tired of saying that. “Evidently, Aero’set is where they used to train wielders to use their gifts.”

  His father turned. “So, he wants you to go there to train?”

  “I bet they have some powerful weapons in there for us to use,” Veldon said from the other end of the table, where Ty’s mother normally sat. The head of the wielder council had been rather tight-lipped up till now.

  “I guess.” Ty honestly hadn’t considered that possibility. “Nyalis didn’t say. But he did seem to think that this keep was important in our effort to defeat the White Tower.”

  “Is it dangerous?” Reloria asked, sticking another piece of taffy into her mouth.

  Once again, Ty had to answer with uncertainty. “Possibly.” He wished he could tell them more, but that was the extent of what he knew. The wizard hadn’t exactly been forthcoming. Maybe Nyalis didn’t know much more than that himself.

  “When are you supposed to leave?” his father asked.

  “Nyalis didn’t say. He just told me that when I was ready, I should return to Meerwood.” Ty tried to hide the uncertainty in his voice. He was eager to make the journey, bring back the lost school of magic, and start his training, but he was also just as hesitant. He couldn’t imagine leaving his home, his family. They needed him now more than ever.

  Ty’s father pulled his long-stemmed pipe from his pocket and chewed softly on the end, something he did whenever he faced a tough decision.

  The others picked up on the cue and decided it was time to call it an evening.

  After the last goodbyes were said, Ty and the rest of his family began cleaning up. Ty cleared the dishes and wiped the table with a wet cloth. He didn’t notice all the gouge marks and cracks in the tabletop until the dishes were moved.

  He lifted the rag and looked back over his cleaning, remembering the times his mother had asked him to do it and he had spent the entire time grumbling and complaining. How often had he taken her for granted?

  Ty stared at the end of the table and his mother’s empty seat. His eyes burned, but the tears never came. He had held them back for so long that now, he couldn’t pry them loose. He began wiping down the chairs. As long as he kept his thoughts focused on something else, it didn’t hurt quite so much.

  A sniff from over by the fire made him look up. His father stood from stoking the flames. There were tears in his eyes. He rested his arm on the mantel and took a puff on his pipe. “Breen. Adarra.”

  Adarra stepped out of the kitchen and wiped her soapy hands on her apron.

  Breen appeared from the hall that led to the bedrooms. “Did you call?”

  Ty’s father nodded. “It’s time.”

  Ty tensed, twisting the rag in his hands. He knew what his father was referring to.

  His father led them out the front door and around the side of the house. They started for the small bridge at the back, but Ty stopped before they got there. He stood beside the well, unable to move, as though paralyzed by spider venom all over again. Just across the brook, underneath the oak where his mother spent her time reading, he saw the pile of newly turned soil and the wooden marker at its head.

  He looked away. He couldn’t face her. After all, he was the reason she was dead. He felt empty inside. Hollow. Void of everything except the pain. He didn’t think he could survive the guilt. He didn’t want to. Why couldn’t he have taken her place?

  “It’s not your fault, son,” his father said, startling Ty into raising his head. “Don’t blame yourself.”

  “Who else can I blame?” Ty asked, more forcefully than he had intended. “I wasn’t strong enough to protect her.”

  “None of us were.”

  “But it’s my fault. Mangora was here for me. Mother died because of me.” Ty wanted to cry, but the tears still wouldn’t come. Rage took their place, burning him from the inside out. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he twisted and pulled on the rag to the point of tearing.

  “You’re right, Ty,” his father said. “She did.”

  Ty took a step back, stunned.

  “She also died for me, and for Breen, and Adarra. Your mother fought and died for those she loved. We all have a choice, son, and she made hers.” His father took a step forward and laid his big hand on Ty’s shoulder. “She loved you very much, Ty.
Take comfort in knowing that she is now resting in the arms of the Creator, watching over us from above.”

  Ty felt anything but comforted. He pulled away from his father’s grip and took another step back.

  His father sighed. “Don’t let this grief destroy you. Your mother would never have wanted that. Honor her by living your life.”

  Ty had another way to honor his mother—a promise he had already made that needed fulfilling.

  “Come,” his father said, motioning for Ty to follow him as he turned back toward the bridge.

  Ty shook his head. Without saying another word, he turned and headed back inside.

  Chapter 17 | Valtor

  “HAVE YOU MADE your decision yet?” Valtor asked Dakaran as he weighed the answer in the newly crowned king’s eyes. Valtor had been using his magic to soothe Dakaran’s nerves all day in preparation for the upcoming meeting with Commander Tolin, but under the circumstances, sparing a little of that magic for himself might have been prudent.

  After news had reached Valtor that his hidden laboratory under the palace hadn’t been quite as hidden as he presumed, he’d spent the majority of the previous day combing through the bodies of his Black Watch, trying to discover who could have raided the underground dungeons. Every single one of the prisoners had been released. Or had they broken out on their own?

  He shook his head. A rabble of half-starved vagabonds couldn’t have overpowered an entire contingent of the Tower’s guards. His men were dead, including one of his bulradoer, and not a trace of the perpetrators could be found, leaving him more than a little on edge. It was one thing to kill a group of armsmen, but quite another to take on a wielder trained in combat.

  He took a deep breath and slowly released it. He couldn’t think about it right now. It was a problem best saved for another time. He needed to focus on the immediate issues, and that meant getting rid of Commander Tolin. He turned and pushed another string of magic into Dakaran, watching as the king’s shoulders relaxed.

  Dakaran tended to let his emotions get the better of him most days, requiring additional effort on Valtor’s part to mollify and shape those emotions into something that would serve both their interests. The wine didn’t help. It was hard enough to keep Dakaran focused without the added effort of also keeping him sober. Drunk, his emotions required a forceful hand, and Dakaran was not firmly enough under Valtor’s grasp for that. For now, his touch needed to remain light.

  Valtor was surprised at Dakaran’s hesitancy to relieve the commander of his duties. Neither Valtor nor Dakaran could afford to keep Tolin around. Under the king, the commander of the Elondrian Lancers was one of the most powerful positions in the kingdom. They needed to fill that position with someone they could control. Tolin wasn’t that man. He had been vastly loyal to Rhydan and would certainly get in the way of Valtor’s future endeavors.

  Tolin had already been very outspoken in his argument against replacing the High Guard with the Black Watch, and worse, people were listening. Valtor hoped Dakaran wasn’t one of them.

  “I believe so,” Dakaran said, spinning his goblet in his hand. He sat behind the desk where his father had spent most of his days. Valtor didn’t care much for the room. He couldn’t help but think of Rhydan every time he stepped inside and was exposed to everything from the shelves of books covering Elondrian military campaigns to the mounted trophies and weapons hanging on the walls. He had assumed Dakaran would have set up his own study, decorating it in a manner more befitting his lavish tastes. To Valtor’s astonishment, the former prince had demanded the use of his father’s study instead.

  “Are you going to tell me or just leave me guessing?”

  Dakaran smiled. “I’ll let it be a surprise.”

  Valtor tightened his grip on his staff, his nails practically digging into the wood. Dakaran had grown more obstinate of late, ever since receiving his father’s crown. He wore it everywhere he went, like a child showing off a new toy. Valtor only hoped the newness abated quickly, along with the defiance. If Dakaran continued along this path, Valtor’s magic might not be enough to keep him in check.

  A knock on the door had them both turning.

  “Come,” Dakaran said.

  A guard wearing the white mantle of the Black Watch opened the door and stepped inside. He looked first to Valtor in front of the hearth, then at Dakaran. “Your Majesty, Commander Tolin is here to see you.”

  Dakaran made an effort to sit up straight. “Send him in.”

  Tolin stepped into the room, removed his feathered tricorn, and bowed. He was wearing his ceremonial uniform today, something he only did for official purposes. His crimson cape draped low over his left shoulder, covering his long-sleeved gold doublet. His sword hung from his waist, the gold polished to reflection. Had the man been expecting this meeting? Of course he had. Tolin wasn’t a fool. Another reason why Valtor needed him gone.

  The king stood behind his desk and headed for the arranged seats in front of the fire. He motioned for Tolin to join him. “Please, Commander, have a seat.”

  Tolin waited for Dakaran to take his seat in the high-backed chair across from him before sitting. Valtor remained where he was by the hearth, not wanting to appear too forward but at the same time acquiring a better view of Dakaran.

  “I’m concerned, Commander,” Dakaran said, crossing his legs as he balanced his goblet on the arm of his chair.

  “Concerned, Your Majesty?”

  “With the deaths of my father and the Guardian, and the fall of Cylmar, not to mention the return of creatures like the hor’hounds, we are clearly in a time of . . . transition.” Dakaran lifted his goblet and took a small sip. “No one likes change. But change is inevitable.”

  Valtor smiled. Dakaran was using the very words Valtor had relayed to him not two days earlier. He was glad to see the new king had been listening. With Dakaran, he never knew.

  Dakaran lowered the goblet back to the arm of his chair. “I am not my father, Commander. I have my own way of doing things.”

  Tolin nodded, sparing a brief glance at Valtor.

  “I’m concerned, though.”

  Tolin shifted his gaze back to the king, his expression unchanged. “In what way, Your Majesty?”

  “Take the disbanding of the High Guard. Ever since my proclamation, I have heard nothing but disapproval.”

  Tolin took a moment before answering. “Your Majesty, I understand change is inevitable. But if not tempered with moderation, change can be destructive.”

  Dakaran’s grip on the stem of his cup tightened. “Are you saying you disagree with my decision, Commander?”

  Tolin responded evenly. “I’m saying that the High Guard has been a symbol for this kingdom since the time of Torrin, and it seems callous to disband them right after such an enormous sacrifice on the battlefield.”

  Dakaran’s brows lowered, which meant his temper was rising. Valtor pushed a little more magic into him to soothe his nerves. “And after the inexplicable failure of the High Guard to protect my father, do I not have the right to judge them accordingly? Do I not have the right to surround myself with those I can trust to keep me safe?”

  Tolin looked stunned. “Of course, Your Majesty. I’m simply trying to point out how the decision could be viewed with skepticism. Your father was always open to hearing my counsel; I hope you will allow me to continue to offer it.”

  Dakaran’s hand loosened slightly, his shoulders relaxing. “What other areas of concern would you counsel me in?”

  What was Dakaran doing? Valtor took a small step forward, hoping to draw the king’s attention. It didn’t seem to work. Or if it did, Dakaran wasn’t showing it.

  Tolin rested his arm on the side of his chair. “There are those in the Elondrian Senate who believe it necessary to proffer additional aid to the White Tower through taxation. With the sudden reemergence of hor’hounds and the apparent rise in wielder activity, fear has taken hold of many. But, like your father,” Tolin said, sparing another directed loo
k at Valtor, “I would caution any decision that allows the White Tower to extend its reach. Your father kept the Tower on a short leash for a reason. If turned loose, who’s to say where it would stop?”

  “Preposterous!” Valtor snapped, caught off guard by the man’s brazen implications. “As Archchancellor, I control the actions of the White Tower. Under the authority of the king, of course,” he said with a bow to Dakaran. “The very reason we are seeing the rise of wielders and the return of such beasts is because the Tower has been forced to operate with its hands tied behind its back. How can we do our job without the resources needed to accomplish it?”

  “You seem to be doing just fine without them, Chancellor,” Tolin replied. “From the reports I’m getting, it seems the Tower’s guards are multiplying like jackrabbits. There’s hardly a backwater hamlet in all the five kingdoms that hasn’t received a visit from the Black Watch. Tell me, Valtor, how is it the Tower has managed to amass such a force without the aid of the Crown?”

  Valtor fought to keep his own emotions in check as he took another step forward and smiled. “Let me get this straight, Commander. First, we’re not doing our jobs well enough, and that’s why we’re seeing an increase in wielder activity, and now we are doing our jobs too well because we are managing to make our presence known in the farthest reaches of the five kingdoms. Which is it? Seems you have a very clear bias.” He chuckled. “Next, you’ll be declaring we are in league with the very ven’ae we hunt down.”

  Tolin didn’t respond, but Valtor noted with satisfaction the man was gripping his hat so hard he’d crumpled the brim.

  Valtor turned to address Dakaran, infusing him with a strong sense of empathy. “Your Majesty, it is all too clear where the commander’s loyalty lies. The White Tower has ever been the bastion of hope for the jun’ri. We are the only defense that stands between us and the return of magic. Without us, Aldor would fall prey to the very thing that brought us to the brink of destruction all those centuries ago. Magic cannot be allowed to run rampant. If the weeds are permitted to grow with the wheat, the entire crop could be lost.”