Shadow Born

by Martin Frowd

A second hookbeak dived toward them, and a third, coming from opposite sides, talons extended to rake. Glaraz invoked his death magic again, uttering the same words of magic and sending another bird plunging groundward to his left, slain by his power. As he disposed of the second, the third slashed at his right shoulder and arm, but its talons skittered harmlessly across his shadowstuff covering without breaking either garment or the skin beneath. It tried to latch onto his arm, but evidently could not get a grip on the shadowstuff and cawed to show its displeasure.

  Glaraz turned to his right and calmly incanted the words that put a shimmering deep grey shadow bolt through its head. The third hookbeak died at once and fell like a rock in the same way as its two compatriots had.

  The remaining five hookbeaks evidently decided that the piecemeal attack was not working. Or perhaps, a distant Druid, or Druids, looking through their eyes, decided for them and directed them? It mattered not. In any case, the five dived as one, extending their talons and screeching as they approached.

  Furiosa hissed and twisted sinuously in the air, opening black jaws far larger than the attacking birds. Jaws which snapped closed again, catching three of the hookbeaks in a single mighty bite. Furiosa munched, crunched, and spat out grey feathers and white bone. Bone fragments rained down toward the rocky ground below, and feathers drifted in the air, gliding groundward.

  That left two hookbeaks of the original eight. This pair had kept clear of Furiosa’s mighty jaws, taking advantage of their fellows’ demise, to land high on her neck, where she could not twist around to bite them, nor use her stinging tail without risking hitting her riders. Gripping onto her neck with their talons, they lunged at Zarynn with their short, hooked beaks. The boy yelped and quailed, trying to shrink backward against Glaraz’s chest as the birds menaced him.

  Glaraz recalled dispassionately that the other hookbeaks’ talons had proved unable to pierce the shadowstuff garment that the shade lord had granted him. Theorising that their beaks would be no more formidable than their talons in that regard, he crossed his arms in front of Zarynn’s face to ward off the two birds. As he had suspected, their beaks slid and skittered across his shadow-sleeved arms, unable to grip or penetrate. Before they could regroup and attack from a different angle, he had seized both of them by their throats, brought his will to bear and uttered more actualising words of the Tongue Arcane.

  “Duavim’na’graat!”

  Glaraz’s transformational magics worked their effect instantly. As with the lion-Druid on the burial mound, the previous night, the two birds immediately solidified, feathers and flesh taking on the hard, unyielding texture of the stone that they had become. No longer able to grip Furiosa’s scales, both hookbeaks plummeted groundward as soon as Glaraz released them. Where their fellows had dropped like stones, these two were stone in truth. And unlike the lion-Druid, they possessed no power to change themselves back again, but hurtled to the unforgiving ground far below and shattered into fragments.

  The initial assault was thwarted, but Glaraz was certain there would be more. Wordlessly, he dug his knees into Furiosa’s scaly flanks, even as his arms steadied the frightened boy in front of him. Their flying mount responded with a burst of speed, vigorous wingbeats propelling them faster and further forward. The necromancer hoped that if they could make a swift run for the ship, they might outpace any further pursuit. And if not, their pursuers might possibly be less keen on engaging them in the sky over open water than over land.

  ◆◆◆

  Zarynn was shaken by the hookbeaks’ ambush from above, but had not truly had time to panic, thanks to the swiftness and grim finality of Glaraz’s response. The necromancer’s strange words of magic had ended the threat of the ugly birds almost as soon as it had begun, each one either blasted to death or turned to stone. And then there were the three that the monstrous beast that carried Zarynn and Glaraz – Furiosa? – had snatched from the air and devoured.

  Zarynn looked down again at the necromancer’s arms to either side of his own, and the outlander’s hands that held tightly onto Furiosa’s neck ridge. The outlander’s sleeves and gloves were more holes than shadowstuff now, Zarynn saw, more like wearing a wide-woven spider’s web than true clothing, and he wondered if they would still provide protection, should another attack come.

  Zarynn dimly noticed Glaraz digging his knees into Furiosa’s sides, and the fearsome creature surging forward through the sky, wings beating vigorously. The hills below, no larger than anthills from this height, were little more than a blur as he, Glaraz and their mount raced through the sky, toward that distant horizon where blue met blue.

  The second hookbeak ambush was just as sudden as the first had been, but on a far larger scale. With a cacophony of screeching cries, a vast flock of the ugly grey birds swooped in from above, talons outstretched to rake and stubby, hooked beaks jabbing. There must have been dozens of them. Zarynn could hear Glaraz incanting magic, though the precise words were drowned out by the attacking hookbeaks. The effects were swift and brutal, as hookbeaks exploded and plunged from the sky all around, falling to the ground far below. Blood and gore splashed Zarynn as more hookbeaks ruptured and burst close by, their bloodied carcasses dropping like feathered stones. The coppery smell of fresh blood and the stink of death filled his nostrils.

  Zarynn shrank back from the flapping, cawing hookbeaks as best he could, trying to make himself smaller against Glaraz and Furiosa as he recalled the last time he had been beset by the ugly birds – and the lion-Druid who had commanded them. A momentary whimper escaped his lips as the events of the previous night played out, again and again, inside his head.

  Furiosa reared up in the air and her mighty ebon jaws snapped shut on several hookbeaks, perhaps as many as half a dozen. The monster crunched and spat out feathers and bones. But still more of the ugly birds remained; the sky was alive with grey-feathered wings, blotting out the blue.

  Birds dived under Glaraz’s arms as he lifted them to point and unleash his magics. Talons raked at Zarynn’s arms, drawing thin lines of blood, and beaks jabbed at his face. Wings beat at him, and he instinctively lifted his hands from Furiosa’s neck ridge to shield his face from the avian assault.

  The power surged in him, unbidden. His face felt hot, then cold, then hot. The buzzing began in his ears. And grey flames erupted from both his hands.

  ◆◆◆

  Glaraz bore witness as once again Zarynn’s Gift manifested, and the boy called shadowfire. A jet of grey flames fanned out in front of him, narrowly missing Furiosa’s neck as she twisted to one side to snatch another few of the hookbeaks in her powerful jaws. The Druids’ attack birds were less fortunate. At least a dozen of them were incinerated instantly by Zarynn’s shadowfire. Only ashes drifted down to the ground far below.

  Druids’ attack birds. They would scarcely attack us unbidden, even in such numbers as these. So where are the Druids who command them? Glaraz wondered even as he spoke the words of the Tongue Arcane that unleashed another volley of rupturing magic in multiple directions. The vile screeches of many more of the ugly avians were abruptly cut off as their bodies burst open. More hot blood and gore spattered Glaraz, Zarynn and Furiosa alike and dead hookbeaks plunged groundward.

  Glaraz noted with approval that the boy Zarynn had managed to remain conscious after unleashing shadowfire this time, despite the physical and mental stresses of his untrained Gift. I was right to risk so much to save this one. With training, he could be the greatest asset to the School in years.

  The necromancer repeated his incantation, focusing his will as he spoke the words. Again, a dozen or more hookbeaks ruptured and exploded, their screeches truncated as his magic ripped them asunder. The flock thins. But the true enemies have not yet joined the fight.

  More hookbeaks dived at Glaraz and his young charge. It was clear to Glaraz, by the birds’ almost single-minded focus on getting past him to young Zarynn, that the boy was their priority, or rather that of their Druid controllers. He raised his ar
ms, between spells, to block the next assault of raking talons. The shadowstuff coating his arms and hands shimmered and boiled away, lifting from him in a great miasma of grey smoke, and suddenly his arms were bare, from shoulders to fingertips.

  Before he could react to the loss of his shadowstuff coating, the hookbeaks were on him, raking and nipping at his arms, scoring bloody lines along them. Gritting his teeth through the sudden flare of pain, Glaraz waved his arms to thrust the birds away, but a few got past. Zarynn yelped as the hookbeaks descended, beaks jabbing and talons raking, drawing blood and clearly trying to dislodge the boy from his perch on Furiosa’s back. Despite the pain, Glaraz pulled his young charge closer against him, trying to shield him bodily from the avian aggression, holding off the birds with bare hands and arms.

  “Faster, Furiosa!” Glaraz implored their mount. “Make for open water! All speed for the ship!” He knew that their flying steed could understand his words and hoped still that a fast, desperate flight over the sea to the waiting ship would outpace the enemy.

  Obedient to his command, Furiosa beat her great wings more vigorously, breaking free of the furious melee. The hookbeaks screeched angrily, but most fell behind, unable to maintain her pace. A few, however, dug talons firmly into her scales – or into Glaraz’s bared arms – and were carried along as the rest fell back into the distance. The necromancer beat at the vicious birds, dislodging several, but a few clung on stubbornly. Furiosa reared up, seeking to shake them off, but could do only so much without jeopardising her riders.

  “Graa’orth’ghri,” Glaraz incanted, but the hookbeaks’ talons disrupted the fierce concentration required to actualise the magic, and nothing happened. The necromancer redoubled his efforts to beat at the birds. Zarynn, yelping with fear, added his own clumsy efforts to the endeavour, beating at them almost blindly while trying to shield his face from their cruel beaks. The hookbeaks pressed in closer, wings battering and beaks jabbing at both Zarynn and Glaraz, until the boy screamed. Shadowfire erupted from his hands again, twin waves catching and obliterating the remaining hookbeaks instantly, narrowly missing Furiosa’s scales. Glaraz managed to get his arms out of the way just in time to avoid the grey flames Zarynn had unleashed in his panic.

  Panting, Glaraz assessed the situation. Both he and Zarynn were bloodied by the encounter, though fortunately, irritating as it was, he had evidently taken more of the brunt of the assault than the boy. Thin bloody lines were scored down both his forearms and hands; both backs and palms had been clawed by the birds. He was otherwise uninjured, the remaining shadowstuff coating having protected the rest of his body. Zarynn had similar bloody furrows down his arms, and evidently a beak or two had managed to get closer than the necromancer had realised, for the boy’s left cheek was scored also and bleeding freely. All in all, Glaraz was surprised that his young charge was still conscious.

  “Sang’shul,” Glaraz carefully intoned, gritting his teeth as he spoke the words to actualise the magic. Once again, he called on blood magic, but unlike his encounters with the lion-Druid and the doomwolves, this time he commanded the blood to stop flowing rather than to flow freely. His first priority was to stop the bleeding, before a fresh wave of attackers could ambush them anew, and fortunately his particular magics were well suited to the purpose.

  At once, the bloody furrows along his arms began to clot and scab over as his blood magic worked its effect on him. In a matter of moments, the bleeding had stopped, though his hands and arms still ached where the hookbeaks had scored them.

  Glaraz intoned the words again, focusing the same blood magic to close up Zarynn’s lacerations. The boy stopped yelping and whimpering as his injuries closed up. Though the necromancer could not truly heal, he could, at least, stop open wounds from bleeding. If Anjali’s illusion has held, and the ship has gone undetected, the healing supplies there should do the rest. As long as we can get there successfully.

  “We must make swiftly for the ship,” he explained to Zarynn. “With fortune, no more hookbeaks – and no more Druids! – will delay our flight. On the ship, there are potions and salves of healing, to fully cure our wounds.”

  “Are you going to ward our bones again?” the boy asked shrewdly, still wincing at the lingering aches and pains. “Wrap them with earth, so the birds can’t hurt us? Like you did against the hunters’ spears?”

  “Earthbone ward, young Zarynn?” the necromancer raised an eyebrow at the boy’s suggestion. “It does not truly wrap bones in earth, despite the name, young one. It wards skin with strength drawn from the bones of the earth. But yes. I shall ward us both now.” He focused his concentration again, drawing forth the magic to shape the wards. “Graa’orth’ghri. Graa’orth’ghri.”

  Uninterrupted by vicious hookbeaks this time, the magic rose to Glaraz’s carefully incanted command, warding both him and the boy against slashing or penetrating blows.

  “Warded we are, young one. Now swiftly we must fly, and hopefully no more hindrance – no more fighting – before we reach safety. But if fight we must, at least now we are guarded.”

  The ground sped by below as Furiosa’s powerful wingbeats carried them forward and the grey-black of the hills receded. The shoreline drew ever closer beneath them. Ahead, Glaraz could see sunlight glinting off the water and white spray thrown up where the waves crashed against the hills.

  Even as they flew, Glaraz saw the shadowstuff covering rise from his legs and dissipate, burned away by the sunlight just as had been the shadowstuff coating his arms and hands. His legs were bared to the sun from thigh to ankle, where the shadow stubbornly continued to coat his feet, with a seeming and a feel more akin to thin, cool socks than to boots. Aside from his feet, only his head and torso remained protected, as if he had worn a hooded vest. The shade lord did say the shadowstuff would last but a short time, in direct sunlight. Glaraz was not ungrateful for the protection it had afforded him thus far against the talons of the hookbeaks, although he wished it might have lasted until they reached the ship. At least the earthbone ward would shield his now-bared legs from talon and beak, should more foes assail them before they reached safety.

  As if the mere thought of the wretched avian nuisances had called them forth, yet another flock of hookbeaks swooped down upon them from on high. Forgoing silence this time, their approach was heralded by their characteristic screech as they dived, talons already extended to rake and tear. But this time, Glaraz was protected against such threats, and their talons skittered off his bare arms and legs without breaking skin. Nor was the boy Zarynn any more vulnerable. Such few talons or beaks as evaded Glaraz to strike directly at the boy likewise failed to strike home. Their beating wings were an irritation, filling Glaraz’s vision with feathers, but they were no longer truly a threat.

  A cloud of hookbeaks flew all around Furiosa's head, screeching all the while, clearly seeking to disorient her. Several paid with their lives, snatched by her vast ebon jaws, crunched and swallowed with only bones and feathers discarded. But their tactic was not entirely a failure, as her great wingbeats slowed as she snapped her jaws from side to side to be rid of the grey-feathered pests that surrounded her and blocked her sight.

  Incanting words of the Tongue Arcane and focusing his will, Glaraz sent a volley of invisible bolts of death magic fanning out at the encroaching hookbeaks, scything through them and dropping many from the sky, their hearts burst within their feathered breasts and their inert bodies plummeting. Only so long can I expend power upon the puppets, and still have power enough left to fight the puppet masters, should they intercept us before we reach safety. He cursed silently as hookbeaks continued to flutter around Furiosa's head, blocking her sight and distracting her, slowing their flight toward their distant, waiting ship.

  Talons slammed into him from behind, jolting him although they could not penetrate the shadowstuff that yet coated his back, nor the ward beneath. Talons larger and stronger than any hookbeak's. Glaraz clung tightly to Furiosa, hands gripping her neck ridge, thig
hs gripping her flanks, and arms cradling the boy Zarynn protectively, and managed to avoid being knocked from his mount. The necromancer glanced upward as wings, not dirty grey but jet black with bands of lightning blue, and thrice the span of a hookbeak's, passed over his head. In eerie silence, the doomhawk wheeled around, coming back for another pass with talons extended. Zarynn huddled into his chest, gaping at the fearsome bird as it bore down upon them.

  Where a doomhawk flies, a Druid will not be far behind. If indeed it is a doomhawk I see and not itself a transformed Druid. The demon-wrought birds were far more formidable, Glaraz knew, than the more numerous hookbeaks. The earthbone ward would shield him and the boy against the cursed bird's beak and talons just as it did against those of the lesser birds, but the doomhawk had the size and strength to knock him from his seat astride Furiosa's back, or snatch the boy Zarynn from his grasp, if he failed for a moment in his vigilance.

  Still eerily silent, compared to the cacophony of the hookbeaks, the doomhawk bore down on Glaraz once more. The necromancer ruthlessly banished the distracting disquiet from his mind, schooling himself into a calm stillness, as he focused his will on summoning the magic that would serve him best against the demon-spawned bird.

  “NeOrthom,” he incanted, raising one hand from his grasp on Furiosa's neck ridge just long enough to indicate his target. The rupturing magic lanced from his pointing hand, invisible to the naked eye, just as it had against hookbeaks galore. But the doomhawk reacted with a preternatural, almost precognitive, agility. Even before he completed his incantation, the great bird was already wheeling and twisting on the wing, and the invisible beam of magic that should have struck it dead centre - and struck it dead - missed it entirely.