Plague of Shadows

by Michael Wisehart

  “Sounds like a useful piece of magic,” Orlyn said. “I can think of some ways that would be helpful around my shop.”

  “It’s a fairly harmless spell, unless used on a living creature, especially a human, then it can be very dangerous. Only fifth-year apprentices were allowed to use such magic. The wielder would have to be gifted. Not to mention, the subject would have to be a willing participant.”

  “That’s impossible,” Breen said. “Ty would never allow someone to control him.”

  Nyalis nodded. “I didn’t say the subject had to understand what was happening, only that they be a willing participant. There’s no telling what Ty thought he was getting himself into when he agreed. Whoever is doing this has a good understanding of this spell and their own capabilities.” He tugged lightly on his beard in thought. “And if someone has managed to trick Ty into giving up control, we are in a lot of danger. Even untapped as it is, his power is far greater than anyone’s here, including my own.”

  Chapter 71 | Ferrin

  THE EARLY-MORNING LIGHT forced its way through the split shutters as Ferrin brought his hammer down across the smooth steel once again. Amber sparks scattered in every direction. He loved the heat, the familiar smell of the coals and wrought iron, the melodic ringing of the sledge as it struck the anvil, the feel of its balanced weight in his hands. It was intoxicating, especially now that he was melding his own magic within the folded layers of the newly reforged blades.

  His sweat-soaked arms glistened in the firelight, and his muscles ached. It was an ache that left him with a feeling of accomplishment, an ache that brought a proud smile to his face as he held up the second blade with his tongs. He’d forgotten how much he loved his work, watching the steel as it formed to the image in his mind. It almost seemed like another life. He hardly recognized the one he was living now—sleep deprived, saddle sore, constantly looking over his shoulder for fear the Tower would be there waiting.

  He dipped the blade inside the cooling tank and watched the bubbles rise to the top. Ferrin had spent the entire night working on the two swords. The first was resting snugly in its sheath on the post to his right, while the second still needed to have its crossguard and hilt attached.

  After finishing the pairing, Ferrin raised the sword and inspected his work. Running his thumb down the blade, he used his magic to infuse it with durability so that its edge would never dull, something he had learned to do years before when first experimenting with his gift.

  He leveled the sword against a thick piece of wood, raised it over his head, then swung. The top half of the wood tilted and fell, landing at his feet with a thump. He raised the blade again to check the edge—not so much as a scuff mark.

  “Ah, my dear smith, it’s so good to see you again.”

  Ferrin froze. He’d been so busy with his work, he hadn’t heard anyone enter.

  He kept his back turned, hoping that whoever it was thought he was the owner of the smithy and needed some work done. “Is there something I can help you with?” he asked, keeping a tight grip on his sword.

  “I see the Archchancellor was right about your talents. Your work is exquisite, but I would expect nothing less from a man with such dedication to his craft.”

  Ferrin’s breath caught in his throat. It couldn’t be. Cheeks was dead. Rae had killed him. He’d watched the last trace of the sadistic inquisitor’s life drain from his eyes. But still, there was something about the way this man spoke that had Ferrin’s hands shaking.

  “Oh, let’s not play coy, my dear smith; it doesn’t suit you.”

  Ferrin turned slowly, keeping the blade at his side.

  Two people stood just inside the doorway. The man was of average build, maybe early to midtwenties, with shoulder-length brown hair, and eyes to match. He had a kind face, except for the eyes. Something about the eyes made Ferrin squirm.

  The woman, on the other hand, was more Ferrin’s age, midthirties, fairly attractive with frizzy red hair and . . . strawberry-colored eyes with gold flecks that seemed to glow when she faced the hearth.

  “What kind of way is that to greet an old friend?” The young man stretched his arms wide and beamed. “Do I look so different?” He tilted his head and laughed. “I guess I do, at that.”

  “What is this?” Ferrin asked, pointing his sword at the man. “Who are you?”

  “Come now, I know you recognize me. Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t see.”

  Ferrin stared at the man. It sounded like Cheeks. But how had he managed to come back from the dead, let alone look like someone else? Had he taken someone else’s body, or was this all some kind of elaborate ruse to catch him off guard? If so, it was working.

  “I watched you die,” Ferrin said, feeling all the muscles in his body tense.

  The man smiled. “Guess I missed your company so much, I had to come all the way back from the underworld for more.”

  “So, who’s the poor soul that got saddled with you inside? Somehow I doubt it was voluntary.”

  The woman beside Cheeks shifted.

  “Yes, it is quite the specimen,” the man said, turning to the woman on his left. “Don’t you think, Lenara?”

  “Shut up, Sylas, and get on with it.”

  Ferrin took a step back. He had to get out of there and warn the others. Then again, this might be his one chance to put an end to the inquisitor once and for all. He looked at the door behind them. Cheeks wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t have come alone. There was probably an entire contingent of Black Watch right outside the door.

  There was a window on Ferrin’s right. If he could make it out, perhaps he could lose the guards in the backstreets.

  Ferrin tightened his grip. “What now?”

  “Now we take you back to the Tower where you belong. The Archchancellor has great plans for you, my dear smith, and I’ve missed our little chats, our witty repartee. I just know we will have many, many years of grand conversations together.”

  “Over my dead body. Or better yet . . . yours.”

  “Well, that was rather hurtful.” The man folded his arms, pouting in mock rejection. It looked even more perverse coming from the young man’s body. “I have no desire to see either one of us hurt. In fact, I was given explicit instruction to keep you intact. But,” he said, raising his hand in warning, “make no mistake. If forced, I have no problem having them cut off a leg or two. Doubt you need those to work your magic.”

  Ferrin didn’t move, but his hands were visibly trembling.

  “But why all the hostility? Why not make this easier on yourself?” The man’s smile darkened, and for the first time, Ferrin caught a glimpse of the true spirit living within.

  Ferrin sneered. “When have you ever known me to do anything the easy way?”

  Cheeks laughed.

  “How did you find me? I haven’t seen those corax things in a couple of days.”

  “Ah, I see our good captain has been giving out our secrets. Rather gifted creatures, the corax. Their eyes are just as good at night as they are during the day. They had no problem finding you. The same way they had no problem finding your companions.”

  Ferrin felt the floor beneath him vanish. “You’re lying,” he spat.

  “Am I? How else would I be here? How else in all this city would I know the one place where you would be?”

  Ferrin looked Cheeks in the eyes. He couldn’t tell if the man was bluffing. Not that it mattered. If he couldn’t make it past the guards, there wasn’t anything he could do anyway. He had but one choice—fight. At least this time he had something to fight with.

  Ferrin raised his sword.

  Cheeks took a quick look around the room, his smug expression fading when he noticed the plethora of metal objects within Ferrin’s reach. He took a step toward the door, and the woman beside him lifted one of the metal rods hanging from her waist.

  “I don’t have any grievance with you,” Ferrin said to her. “But I will defend myself. Please step aside and let me pass. Ther
e’s no point in anyone dying here today.”

  The woman didn’t budge.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  The woman mumbled something under her breath, and a fiery lash extended from the end of the rod in her hand.

  Ferrin’s eyes widened. She was a bulradoer.

  Chapter 72 | Ferrin

  FERRIN TOOK A STEP BACK. And just in time.

  The woman swung her whip and cut the bracer post beside him in half, causing part of the ceiling to collapse.

  He grabbed his other sword from the peg and leaped to the side, dodging most of the wood and debris as it fell. “Are you crazy? You’re going to bring the whole roof down on our heads.” He couldn’t believe the power her weapon had. How was he going to stand against something like that?

  Ferrin rolled to his feet, the sheathed sword and scabbard in one hand and open blade in the other. Cheeks was nowhere to be seen. Ferrin glanced over his shoulder at the window and his heart sank. It was blocked by a pile of fallen rubble. There was now only one way in and one way out.

  The woman started for him, moving cautiously around the right side of the room.

  Ferrin moved as well, backing farther away from the door in the hopes of drawing her in. He held the black blade out in front of him as though it were going to stop a weapon made of fire that could cut through a beam the size of his leg. Reaching the stone wall at the back of the smithy, he worked his way left.

  She moved to cut him off, her whip burning a path through the dirt as she came. She brought it up and swung once more. The whip made a loud crack and hissed as it struck just to his right, splitting another of the support beams and causing more of the ceiling to collapse. Ferrin dove out of the way, just missing being pinned by a section of wood planks. She seemed to be herding him. He was back on his feet before she had a chance to reset her whip. Clearly, she wasn’t trying to kill him, at least not yet. Maybe he could use that.

  The woman moved toward the center of the room, keeping herself between him and the exit. She raised her whip again. He was running out of room to move. She swung, and he spun to the left. The whip struck the forge behind him, splitting the cooling tank in two. Water hissed and shot into the air, splashing the right side of his body.

  He circled left, keeping his eye on her whip as he headed for the only section of the smithy left intact. His payment certainly wasn’t going to cover replacing the man’s entire shop, but he didn’t have time to feel guilty about it. There was only about eight feet of open space between him and the wall, with a single post in the middle. He couldn’t let her cut through another bracer, or the whole place was likely to come down on their heads. Then again, maybe that’s what she wanted. For all he knew, she had some way to protect herself. She was a bulradoer, after all.

  He stood in front of the last remaining post on the right side of the building and braced for the attack. She whipped the fiery brand back around and sent it flying for a spot about two feet above his head. He raised his sword, and the whip wrapped around the black blade and stuck. He wasn’t sure who was more surprised, him or the bulradoer.

  The whip’s fire was hot, but he was a smith and used to heat. He yanked his sword backward with all his might, pulling the whip right out of her hand.

  The flames immediately disappeared as the rod flew across the room and landed beside one of the split beams.

  She gasped and raised her hand, but before she could open her mouth, he lunged for her neck. She yelped and dove out of the way, landing in a pile of shingles and collapsed thatching on the right.

  Ferrin ran for the door and out into the street in front of the smithy. He stopped when he spotted the white robes. Cheeks was standing in front, his mouth gaping.

  The guards looked just as stunned, undoubtedly expecting Ferrin to be in chains and collared.

  Ferrin bolted down the alley next to the smithy.

  “Stop him!” Cheeks shouted. “Stop him, you fools!”

  Ferrin cut right at the next street and ran as fast as his legs would carry him. He was already weak from having spent the entire night slaving over a hot forge, but his fear of being taken back to the Tower was more than enough to keep him moving.

  He could hear the horses’ hooves behind him as the guards scrambled to catch up. He cut down another street, then right at the next intersection, which happened to be a main thoroughfare. Crossing the road, he rushed past a couple of unopened shops before ducking between two more, hoping to make it into the small jetty before the others spotted which direction he’d taken.

  He had to get to the Smelly Trout. He had to make sure the others were still alive. If Cheeks was to be believed, it might already be too late.

  Taking a northerly approach, he came out just upriver from the bridge. Fog lined the streets, coming in off the water, limiting his sight. He scanned the stone walkway for any sign of white riders, then slung the scabbards over his shoulder and charged across the bridge spanning the channel. He could see a few fishermen in the docks below, getting an early start on the day. There were surprisingly few people on the roads at that hour.

  Once across the bridge, he turned left at the first street and skidded to a stop. He could hear horses ahead, but the fog on the island was thicker, and he couldn’t tell who it was. Quickly, he ducked into the closest building and waited for them to pass. He found himself standing in what appeared to be another small tavern. He could smell breakfast being cooked somewhere in the back. It didn’t smell anywhere near as good as Kyleen’s.

  Peeking through the crack in the door, he watched as another group of Black Watch rode by. He scanned each rider as they passed, looking for familiar faces. What if Cheeks had been telling the truth and his companions had been captured? What would he do then? Would he be willing to risk his sister’s safety by going after them? He’d already been down that road before. The first time they’d captured him, he’d managed to free every prisoner in his wagon except himself. He couldn’t do that again.

  The final rider trotted by, and he breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He hadn’t seen Myron, Rae, or Suri. Quietly, he slipped out the door and made his way down the narrow street to the Smelly Trout. The inn was quiet, no lights in the windows, so he worked his way around to the stables on the side.

  Their horses were missing.

  The sky was slate grey, too early yet for the sun, but late enough that his friends should be waking for breakfast. The fact that their horses were gone was troubling. He moved toward the door at the side leading into the dining room.

  He couldn’t help but notice the lack of smell coming from inside. Odd. Tibble had said that he and Kyleen were up every morning before dawn preparing breakfast.

  Cautiously, he placed his ear to the door. He couldn’t hear anything, but that didn’t mean there weren’t soldiers waiting inside. Holding his sword at the ready, he pushed his magic into the open room beyond to see if he could detect any hint of additional steel. He might not have been able to manipulate the metal without touching it, but he could at least tell what was there. Apart from the tin mugs, plates, and occasional lantern, it seemed empty.

  He couldn’t just stand there waiting for something to happen, so he inched open the door and slipped inside. The place was in ruin. There were tables overturned, chairs piled up, dishes broken and scattered across the floor.

  Ferrin ran across the room and up the stairs to the second floor. All down the narrow hall, doors stood ajar. Each room looked like it had been tossed. Ferrin glanced in Rae and Suri’s room, but there was no sign of them. The bed was on its side and the dresser drawers were strewn across the floor.

  His room was much the same. His gear was gone.

  Panic was already setting in as he paced between rooms. What should he do? He wrung his hands. What could he do? He knew Cheeks wouldn’t leave without him, which meant as long as he could keep from getting himself captured, he at least stood a chance. But a chance for what? The only option he had was to try finding the Black W
atch camp. At least then he could determine whether or not his friends had been captured. Of course, he could cut his losses and keep going. He doubted Cheeks would be willing to kill Rae. She was too valuable a tool for his interrogations. And he’d probably find a way to make use of Suri’s gift as well. Myron was another story. He’d torture him as long as he could.

  Ferrin punched the wall, managing to crack one of the boards and send a lance of searing pain running through his fingers. He rubbed the ache out as he headed back down the stairs.

  A bowl clanged in the kitchen, and Ferrin froze. Keeping as quiet as possible, he navigated around the loose debris toward the back. He waited a moment. Not hearing anything, he inched open the kitchen door and peered through.

  His stomach tightened to the point of not being able to breathe. He wasn’t at all prepared for what he saw. There was blood everywhere.

  Tibble lay on his back. There were unusual puncture wounds all up and down his body. His eyes and mouth were open as if trying to scream, and his hand clasped the folds of his wife’s skirt. Beside him, Kyleen sat slumped against a cabinet, a large bowl of her famous rhubarb mix in her lap. Like Tibble, her body was riddled with strange holes. Her eyes appeared to be missing.

  He took a deep breath, trying to swallow down the bile rising in the back of his throat. He was going to kill every last one of those guards, rip them limb from limb. Only the most inhuman of monsters could do something like this. He might not have known the old couple all that well, but no one had treated him kinder.

  Just inside the door to his right, a loud, throaty caw broke the silence as two of the black winged creatures that had been tracking them hopped into sight and once again took up their feasting.