Plague of Shadows

by Michael Wisehart

  “My, that sounds like a most difficult thing to learn. Wouldn’t it would be much easier to simply talk to each other?”

  At this point, Ty didn’t care. Why were they standing up there, discussing the Northman’s language, when they could be putting it to good use?

  “I’m sure they probably think the same thing about us, my lord. From what I can gather, their hand gestures can be used to communicate quite a bit. This, for example,” she said, raising her right hand with fist clenched to her chest before opening it outward, palm up, and bowing in Barl’s direction, “means that I am acknowledging that I am your inferior, that I have respect for your authority, that I will willingly lay my life in your hands.”

  Barl’s eyes widened. “That one gesture meant all of that?”

  “It does, and more, but right now, I’m not sure I understand all the nuances.”

  “Then let’s find out,” Ty said.

  The overlord blew out his cheeks with a sigh. “Just do your best. We can’t expect more than that.” He turned and started toward the back. “This way.”

  Chapter 55 | Ty

  THEY DESCENDED THREE flights of stairs, stopping on the bottom landing. The air was stale and cold, and Ty could feel his skin prickle. The warmth from the torches was hardly enough to break the chill, but it was better than the brisk winter gusts outside.

  Ahead, the door leading into the prison had metal bars placed into the top half. A couple of armed guards sitting at a nearby table stood when they saw Overlord Barl.

  The jailer stepped away from his desk to greet them, a heavy ring of keys hanging from one hand. He was average height, somewhere between Overlord Barl and Ty’s father, with a round face, dark beard, and ears that stuck out rather noticeably. “Sir, I’m sorry, but before I let them pass,” he said, gesturing at Ty’s family, “I need to get everyone’s name and reason for coming.” The jailer looked almost embarrassed at having to make such a request in the overlord’s presence, but Barl responded with a brisk nod.

  “Quite right, Sergeant. I’m glad to see you have things well in order down here, especially considering who we have locked inside.”

  The jailer nodded. “Indeed, Your Lordship. We can’t be too careful. I like to keep my men to the rules. Structure is key, I always say.”

  “Couldn’t agree more.”

  Ty joined the others and gave his name and reason for being there, which seemed ridiculous since it was his family who had been responsible for capturing the prisoner in the first place. Once finished, the jailer unlocked the door, grabbed one of the torches from its bracket on the wall, and ushered them inside.

  Finally, Ty thought as he followed the others through the inner maze of passages, first left, then right, then left again, coming to a stop outside a cell with a door made of tempered iron bars. The jailer held out his torch, revealing the big savage at the back lying on his side, face away from the door. He was still wearing his obscene cloak of human hair. As cold as it was down there, he probably needed it.

  The jailer lit a couple of the torches on the wall between the cells, giving Ty and the others a clear view inside. “Will there be anything else, Your Lordship?”

  “That’ll be all, Sergeant.”

  The jailer saluted and started back up the corridor. “If you have need of anything, I’ll have men posted at the end of the hall.”

  Barl waited for the jailer’s steps to fade before turning back to the cell. “Jonas, we’ve come to talk.”

  They waited in silence. There was no response from the man inside the cell. Ty was starting to wonder if he’d died from his injuries after all. Adarra and his mother had not only opened his head with an iron skillet but had also shot him with an arrow.

  Just my luck, Ty thought. He finally gets his chance to question someone who might know where Mangora was, and the man up and dies before he can get his first question out.

  “Did you hear me?” Barl asked again, a little more forceful, as if it would make a difference. “I’ve brought some people here to talk to you.”

  There was a grunt from inside the cell, along with a couple of strange clicks. It sounded a lot like the way Ty’s mother would click her tongue at him when she caught him sneaking an extra biscuit. The man said something Ty didn’t understand, followed by two words he did: “spotted warrior.”

  Barl turned and shook his head. “Apart from finding this spotted warrior, I’m not sure what more we can do. Maybe you’ll have better luck.” He directed his last statement to Adarra.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” she said as she lifted one of the books out of her sack.

  The Northman turned over and, seeing her, stood. He started for the door, and Adarra quickly backed away. He still had some of the face paint left, mostly over his left eye.

  Barl reached for his sword, forgetting they had relinquished them upon entry into the cells. “Guards!”

  The Tallosian stopped when he heard the lancers running down the corridor in their direction. He looked at Barl, then at Adarra, and pointed to his face. “Spotted warrior.”

  “Wait!” Adarra held out her hand for the guards to stop and took a step forward. “He’s trying to say something.” She put three fingers to her mouth and then opened them toward the Northman, almost like blowing him a kiss. “Speak.”

  Jonas glanced around at the armed men before pointing at his face once more, then back at hers. “Spotted warrior.”

  “It’s you, Adarra,” Ty’s father said.

  “What?”

  “It’s you.”

  “Me? Why would he think—”

  “Look at where he’s pointing.”

  The Tallosian continued pushing his finger to his face.

  “Your freckles,” Breen finally said.

  If Adarra’s cheeks hadn’t been red from the cold before, they were certainly glowing now.

  The large Northman grunted with a nod and took another step forward. Ty hadn’t noticed the nasty-looking burn running down the side of the man’s face until now.

  “It’s fine,” Barl said to the guards, waving them back. “We’ve got it under control.” The two men turned and headed back down the hall.

  Taking a moment to gain her composure, Adarra cleared her throat and started pulling the books from her carry sack, arranging them in piles on the floor. She took a seat in front of the cell and motioned for Jonas to do the same. “This might take a while,” she said as she opened the first book. “You might want to get comfortable.”

  Ty huffed and walked to the other side of the corridor and looked in one of the empty cells. He hoped it wouldn’t take too long. He wanted to question the man about Mangora. He turned and finally took a seat against the far wall where he could watch his sister work.

  After what seemed like hours of back-and-forth hand signals, facial expressions, and complete gibberish, Ty’s sister finally closed her books and turned. “So, what do you want me to ask him?”

  “Ask him where Mangora is,” Ty said, not giving the others a chance to even open their mouths.

  Everyone turned to look at him. Even the Northman.

  Barl grunted and then shifted his attention back to the prisoner. “Ask him what the Tallosians are doing back in Aldor, and why they chose to attack us.”

  Ty’s face hardened.

  “Calm yourself,” the voice in his head said.

  Ty thumbed the ring. “Why are they ignoring me?” he whispered.

  “Because they don’t want you to know the truth.”

  What truth?

  “That they have no intention of looking for Mangora.”

  Why?

  “You’ll have to ask them.”

  Ty spun the ring even faster.

  Adarra took a few moments to think and then started back up with her strange hand motions and prattle. Before long, Jonas replied. He appeared to be having difficulty understanding Adarra’s attempt at his language, but the longer they spoke, the smoother it got. At least he didn’t appear to be g
runting and shaking his head quite as much.

  “If I’m understanding him correctly,” she said, “I believe his people had come to barter for food. Evidently, they’ve had a bad couple of years with their crops, and with winter coming, they didn’t have enough to feed their families. He said that the one leading them—I’m guessing he’s referring to the big Northman you killed, my lord—had been sent to make a trade, and they were promised supplies in exchange for their services as fighters.” Adarra spared a glance at Jonas before turning back to the others. “It doesn’t seem that they knew any of us personally or had a specific grudge.”

  Ty finally stood. His legs were growing numb from sitting so long. This was getting nowhere quickly.

  “Go ahead,” the book dared through the ring, “ask them about Mangora, and see if they change the subject.”

  Fine, he thought, and turned to Adarra. “Ask him where the witch is now. Where she’s hiding. Was he supposed to meet her somewhere?”

  “In a minute, Ty.”

  “See?” the book said. “I told you.”

  Ty’s father stepped in. “We need to know if they are planning any future attacks. Will they be sending any more of their warriors to Sidara?”

  “I just said they were here to barter for food,” Adarra said. “Why would you think—”

  “Because we just killed an entire Tallosian party. I doubt that goes unnoticed.”

  Barl thumbed his chin. “He has a point.”

  Adarra turned to the Tallosian and started up again.

  Ty pressed his thumbs to the sides of his head. He wanted to scream.

  After another lengthy back-and-forth with the prisoner, his sister turned to relay her findings. “The men we fought were from a single tribe, and not a very big one. Jonas says if he doesn’t return, though, his people will send more.” She looked up at Overlord Barl. “A lot more.”

  Who cares about more of these stupid savages coming over here? We’ll just kill them, too. I want to know where Mangora is.

  His father, Breen, and Barl conferred quietly off to the side, conveniently leaving him out of the conversation while his sister sat quietly looking through one of her books. Why was no one saying anything? For that matter, why was he even here? No one was listening to him. He walked over to Adarra. This was the perfect opportunity. “Ask him about the witch.”

  His sister huffed. “Fine,” she said, and went to waving her hands.

  After Jonas had offered his reply, with a few furtive glances in Ty’s direction, Adarra turned and shrugged her shoulders. “He says he doesn’t know.”

  “What do you mean, he doesn’t know? Did you actually ask him?”

  “Of course she didn’t,” the book said. “I told you. They don’t want you to know.”

  Adarra gave him a funny look. “He’s been locked away inside this cell since he woke up and doesn’t know any more about where she is than we do.”

  Ty gritted his teeth. He was growing nauseous, his head pounding. “You didn’t ask him, did you?”

  Adarra stood, still clutching her book. “Yes, I did.”

  “No, she didn’t.”

  Ty could feel the heat of his magic rising and took a deep breath. “Then he’s lying,” he said, pointing at the cell. “It’s as plain as the scar on his face. Just look at him. He knows where Mangora is.”

  “Quit relying on her. Ask him yourself.”

  His chest felt as though it were on fire.

  “Ty, he doesn’t know any—”

  “Then I’ll ask him in the only language a savage like him can understand.” Ty raised his hand and hit the Northman in the chest with a fist of air, throwing him across the cell and into the back wall. The big man wheezed as the air was ripped from his lungs. “Where’s Mangora?” he shouted. “Tell me where she’s hiding!”

  “Ty, stop it!” Adarra said, dropping her book. “You’re killing him.”

  “Son, stop! We need him alive.”

  “Ty!” Adarra grabbed his arm and spun him around.

  He raised his hand, feeling the magic gather in his palm, and for a split second he almost released it, but got control of himself before he did. The look on her face had his magic withering inside him. She was frightened. Of him. He’d seen that look before in the woods behind their house when he had accidentally set her dress on fire. He looked down at his hand. What was he doing?

  Breen pulled Adarra behind him, standing between her and Ty. “What’s wrong with you? Have you completely lost it?”

  Ty lowered his hand. “I . . . I’m sorry. I just wanted to know where Mangora was.”

  “I’m fine, Breen,” Adarra said, placing a hand on his arm as she moved out from behind her older brother.

  Ty was too embarrassed to even look at her. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.” He moved back against the far wall, keeping his distance.

  Barl stared at him a moment, then took a step toward Jonas’s cell. “I’ll send someone down to look at his wounds. Best we leave for now.”

  Breen and his father helped gather Adarra’s books. Ty was too shaken to do anything but lean against the far wall. Why had that happened? He’d almost killed an unarmed prisoner and, even worse, had nearly hurt his sister. Was he really that desperate to find the witch?

  He followed a few steps behind the others as they silently made their way back through the dark corridors leading to the front of the prison. The jailer waiting on the other side unlocked the door and let them out.

  Once back in the open lobby, Ty’s father stopped to talk with the overlord, and Ty took the opportunity to walk outside with Waddle, the only one who hadn’t borne witness to his shameful behavior. The cold air outside was refreshing, helping to soothe whatever was going on inside.

  His father’s conversation was brief, and soon enough, they were riding back out the south gate.

  “Go on ahead,” Ty’s father said to Breen and Adarra. “We’ll catch up.”

  Both Breen and Adarra looked at Ty, the same way they always did when he was about to get a good scolding.

  “I wasn’t much younger than you when my father left,” Ty’s father said, guiding Your Highness down the cobbled street at a slow trot. Ty kept Waddle at the same pace. “Your grandfather Azriel was a strong man, a hard worker, but when my mother died, he seemed to lose himself in his work. He’d spend days, sometimes weeks, away from home. Left me to fend for myself. Then, one day, he left, and I never saw him again. I spent a full month searching, tracking his usual trails through the forest from here to Crystal Lake, but I never found him.”

  Ty looked at his father, not quite sure why he was talking about this. It was the first time his father had mentioned anything significant about Ty’s grandfather, other than he had one.

  “Being abandoned in that way left me with a lot of anger. It also forced me to grow up faster than I should have. Didn’t leave me with much of a childhood. Unlike you, I didn’t have a brother and sister to depend on.”

  “Why are you—”

  “I’m telling you this because I’m worried. I’m seeing the same pattern in you that I had. The anger, building just below the surface, eating you up inside. The difference is that I didn’t have the magic in me that you do. I didn’t have to worry about getting upset and accidentally killing someone.” He looked at Ty. “You have to learn to control it.”

  Ty’s grip tightened on his reins. It wasn’t the same at all. Ty’s mother hadn’t run away; she’d been murdered in front of him, and he knew who was responsible.

  “Your anger gives you strength,” the book said. “But don’t let them see it. Don’t let them use it against you.”

  “Are you listening to me, Ty?” his father asked.

  Ty didn’t answer. He simply nodded.

  Chapter 56 | Lenara

  LENARA SWUNG DOWN FROM her horse, stretched, and stepped up onto the rickety wooden porch that fronted the small stone-block building. She was feeling more than thankful to be able to be off that in
sufferable animal. Her legs were so stiff, she was afraid she’d never be able to walk the same again. It was one thing to go on a simple jaunt but quite another to spend every day and night bouncing in the saddle. If she never saw another horse, it would be too soon.

  The wind was cold, and she could see her breath floating upward with every exhalation. The sun had already set, and the stars were slowly blinking into existence. After the harsh rain they had traveled through a few nights back, the sky had remained clear, allowing for better light to travel with while hunting the Tower’s escapees.

  She waddled to the edge of the porch and peered around the corner at a dilapidated barn just behind the establishment. “Why are we here, Sylas? We could have found better accommodations sleeping in the woods.”

  “We’re here because this is the last place they were seen,” he said, moving past her to open the front door and step inside. She followed him in.

  They had opted to leave their white uniforms and black robes tucked away in their saddlebags and don something a bit more common. They found that gathering information was easier when the people didn’t run at the sight of you.

  Inside, the tavern smelled of hard sweat, stale ale, and whatever poor animal had made the unfortunate mistake of getting caught by the proprietor. Most of the tables were filled. Dirty men with shifty eyes turned at the sound of the door swinging shut behind them.

  The nameless town, if you could call it a town, reminded her of some of the smaller communities back in Cylmar. Same rundown buildings; loose boards patched where others had rotted through; chipped stone darkened by time and lack of cleaning; gruff people with hard faces and distrustful looks. It was a place you passed through and didn’t stop.

  Those seated around the tables studied the newcomers. Sylas first. She could see the cold, calculated stares as they determined how much effort it would take to slit his throat and make off with whatever they could find. With her, the looks shifted to something else as they let their eyes slowly move up and down her person. Getting answers from this lot was going to take more than a little persuasion. Then again, when looking for answers, who better to have as a travel companion than an inquisitor?