A Threat of Shadows

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A Threat of Shadows Page 7

by JA Andrews


  Gustav tossed a large bucket full of water that splashed into a puddle near the front of the structure, not remotely close to any of the parts that were still smoking.

  “Well, not useful exactly,” Douglon said.

  Gustav glared at the two of them. Throwing the bucket down, he stalked away.

  “I’m sorry, son,” a man said to Brandson. “‘Twas burning good by the time anyone saw it. ‘Twas naught to do but keep th’ other buildings safe.”

  Brandson slid down from Beast and stood staring at the husk of his home. The roof was gone, and the walls were sagging. Behind the smithy, the remains of Brandson’s living quarters let out swirls of smoke. The smith began to walk toward them, his arm raised against the heat, but he couldn’t even reach what was left of the walls. Even from back where Alaric stood, waves of heat rolled off the building.

  Alaric doubted there was anything salvageable, but something white caught his eye. He stepped up next to Brandson and found a light-colored rock leaning against the base of a burned wall. Chiseled into the stone was a symbol, or two symbols, one over the other.

  “What’s that?” he asked Brandson.

  The blacksmith looked at the rock blankly.

  “That wasn’t there when we left,” Ayda said, squinting down at it. “The top symbol looks like an axe. I can’t tell what the bottom part is.”

  Alaric crept toward the rock, the heat burning against the exposed skin of his face. He knelt and wiped wet ashes off of it, using the bunched corner of his robe. Then he stepped back quickly, and the three of them peered at the rock, trying to decipher the shape.

  “What did you find?” Gustav demanded. “Move over. Let me see.”

  “It’s a dwarf,” Douglon said from behind them.

  “It doesn’t look like a dwarf,” said Ayda. “It looks like a lizard.”

  “It is a dwarf, lying dead, smited by the axe,” Douglon said dully.

  “How do you know?” Alaric asked. Ayda’s description was more accurate.

  Douglon stepped up beside them, glowering at the white rock. “Because it’s Patlon’s symbol.”

  ***

  Brandson stared into the bottom of his empty ale tankard. He hadn’t moved since collapsing into a chair in the tavern. His expression had gone from depressed to bleary. Alaric, returning from making sure that Beast and the carthorse were stabled behind the tavern, joined the rest of them at a table in the corner of the empty dining hall. The entire building was stuffy and smelled of onions.

  “Are you sure that was Patlon’s symbol?” Alaric asked Douglon.

  The dwarf nodded. “We invented it as children. He claimed that he needed a warning to scare his enemies. I never thought that would mean me.”

  “It might not,” Ayda said. “Patlon didn’t hurt anything of yours. But he did destroy every single thing Brandson owned. Even though Brandson is guilty of nothing but generosity and goodness.”

  Douglon looked stricken. “I’ll rebuild the entire smithy,” he said to Brandson. “Twice as big. With diamonds for windows.”

  Brandson grunted and everyone fell into an uncomfortable silence.

  “So…”Alaric said to Douglon, “Patlon just let you have the map?”

  “I told him I was taking it, and he said nothing.” The dwarf shifted in his chair. “Course he was passed out at the time.”

  Brandson dropped his tankard to the table with a thunk and turned to the dwarf. “You didn’t think to tell us that you’d stolen the map and a fire-wielding dwarf was going to come burn down my home?”

  “I didn’t think he’d find me! It took me months to figure out that the mountains and rock formations the map was talking about were here. I have no idea how he found me.”

  “He has a point,” Ayda said, and Douglon looked at her gratefully. “Who would have expected a dwarf to be that clever?”

  Douglon’s smile turned to a glare.

  She brightened. “I know! His purple elf helped him!”

  Alaric let out a laugh at that, and even Brandson allowed a small smile before dropping his face into his hands. Ayda wrapped her arm around his shoulders.

  “If Patlon found the smithy, why isn’t he still here?” asked Alaric.

  “I’m sure he is, somewhere,” said Douglon. “He prides himself on his hunting ability. Claims he can wait for a week without food or water or sleep if he’s tracking his prey.”

  “I doubt he can go that long,” Alaric said, “but if that fire was just set this morning, I’m sure he saw us come into town.”

  Brandson groaned. “What are we going to do?”

  “There are five of us and only one of him. He’s not much of a threat if we stick together,” Alaric answered. “We need to find a way to talk to him.”

  “Brandson might need to sleep off all the ale before we plan anything,” Ayda said.

  “Where are we going to sleep? If we stay here, he’ll probably just burn the tavern down on us,” Brandson said, raising his head enough to glare at Douglon with one eye.

  The tavern door swung open letting in a swirl of fresh air. They all tensed. Douglon stood, his hand going to his axe. Gustav hunched over, glaring at the door and raising his hands as though he meant to shoot lightning at whoever entered. Alaric turned as well, but it was only a milkmaid carrying an enormous jug.

  She stopped when she saw everyone looking at her.

  Ayda gave her a friendly wave. Douglon nodded to her, dropping back into his chair.

  The milkmaid gave a self-conscious smile and carried her jug into the kitchen. She returned a minute later. Catching sight of Brandson, she paused. Her gaze flicked uncertainly to Ayda’s arm draped over the smith’s shoulder, but she pushed one of her long, brown braids behind her shoulder, smoothed the front of her dress, and approached the table.

  “Brandson, I’m so sorry,” she said.

  Brandson squinted at her. A foolish smile crept across his face. “Milly?” He tried to sit up a little straighter, but kept listing to the side. Douglon gave the smith a small shove to push him back up.

  “I saw the smithy,” Milly said. “That’s terrible. Truly terrible.” Her voice trailed off, and she stood uncomfortably next to their table.

  Douglon pushed an empty chair out toward her, and she dropped into it. When Ayda introduced Alaric, Milly nodded politely.

  “You can all come out to the farm,” she said. “There’s more than enough room. You can stay as long as you need to.”

  “We can pay you, Milly,” Brandson said.

  “Pay me? For taking in my homeless neighbor? You had better not say that again, blacksmith.”

  Brandson shrank back in his chair a bit.

  Ayda clapped. “We’d love to! Can I milk another cow?”

  “That’s not a good idea,” Gustav interrupted.

  “Why not?” Milly asked.

  “I did a good job last time,” Ayda said.

  Gustav ignored the elf and leaned toward Milly, his dramatic whisper barely lower than a shout. “The fire wasn’t an accident.”

  Milly’s eyes widened. “Someone tried to hurt Brandson?”

  “Someone tried to hurt someone,” Gustav said, looking at Douglon.

  The dwarf shifted uncomfortably.

  “Do they know you’re here?” Milly asked.

  “Probably,” Ayda said. “It’s the dwarf’s cousin. He dragged his family feud all the way here, and now Brandson’s life is ruined.”

  Douglon grimaced, and Brandson let out a groan and dropped his head back into his hands.

  “Well if he knows you’re here, you’re stuck. There’s no way out of the tavern without being seen.”

  “We’ll wait until dark,” Douglon said.

  “Or you could come with me,” Milly said. “My wagon is parked against the stable. You could hide in the back, and I can drive you out of town.”

  “We’re not going to endanger you, Milly,” Brandson said.

  “Then you’re stuck here until nightfall,” she s
aid. “And with the full moon tonight, good luck sneaking anywhere.”

  The table was quiet for a long moment. Douglon glanced at Brandson, but the smith’s expression was vacant. The dwarf turned to Alaric with a questioning look.

  Milly seemed like a competent sort of girl. She was right about being stuck here. There wasn’t another easy way out of the tavern that he could see.

  “I don’t know,” Alaric began.

  “Oh, stop dallying and go,” Milly said. “You can each take turns guarding my house tonight if it makes you feel better. There’s a window in the stable, and the wagon’s just outside of it. There should be plenty of room.”

  Brandson looked worried, but Milly shooed him toward the back door.

  “Thank you so much, Milly,” Ayda said.

  “Go on. I’ll wait a couple of minutes before I come out.”

  The rest of the group went quickly into the kitchen. Alaric glanced after them for a moment. It wasn’t really necessary for him to hide from Patlon, but he was unwilling to let Douglon and his map out of his sight. Alaric paid the tavern keeper for a loaf of bread and a generous cut of ham. Then he set an extra gold coin on the counter.

  “If a dwarf comes in looking for us, it would be helpful if you couldn’t remember where we’ve gone,” he said.

  The woman picked up the gold coin and tucked it into her apron. “Where who’s gone?”

  Alaric smiled at her and followed the others out the back door of the tavern. When he slipped into the back of Milly’s wagon, it smelled reliable, like hay and hard work. Like the stables at the Stronghold.

  He pulled his legs up close, trying not to bump into the others. This was hardly the most dignified way he’d ever traveled. But he’d cram into a wagon half this size if it meant he got to see Douglon’s map.

  Chapter 11

  “We can’t leave Kordan’s Blight,” roared Douglon. “Not without my treasure!”

  “Your treasure?” Gustav demanded.

  “We can’t stay here waiting for your cousin to murder us,” Brandson tossed over his shoulder from where he sat adjusting the door on Milly’s wood stove.

  They’d arrived at her farm a couple of hours earlier. Milly, who already knew about the group’s treasure hunting, had demanded that they explain about the smithy. She had taken it all in with surprising level-headedness. Once everyone had eaten and Brandson’s ale had worn off, the conversation deteriorated into an argument.

  The kitchen was dotted with cups and pitchers of fresh wild flowers, making the room smell and feel like a serene mountain glen. Except for the smell of half-eaten ham. And all the yelling.

  Alaric sat at one end of the table, letting the group holler at each other. Douglon’s map was spread out on the other end, too far away to read.

  “If only we could understand the runes,” Brandson said, gesturing at the map. “Then we could find the treasure and be done with it.”

  “Maybe we need to find someone who can translate them,” muttered Douglon.

  “Translate them!” huffed Gustav in outrage. “I have translated them. It is not my fault that you’re too stupid to understand them.”

  “You don’t understand them, either,” Ayda said. “Which might make people wonder if you’re a fraud.”

  “I don’t have to wonder,” Douglon said.

  “There’ll be no talk like that around my table,” Milly said. “Gustav is as much my guest as you two are, and I’m sure he’s doing his best.”

  “Sorry,” Douglon muttered, crossing his arms and settling back in his seat.

  Gustav snorted and rose from the table, turning his back to them and staring into the fire.

  “May I?” asked Alaric, pointing to the map. He tried to keep his voice level.

  Gustav shot him a suspicious look.

  “Sure,” said Douglon, handing it to him. “Maybe you can see something we’ve missed.”

  “I doubt that,” Alaric said, “but I’ve had a pretty thorough education.”

  “Of course,” Brandson said, peering over the stove door. “I can’t believe we haven’t asked you yet.”

  “I’m sure I won’t find anything the worthy wizard didn’t.” Alaric took the map and ran his fingers over the runes.

  There wasn’t much written on the map and none of it involved directions, but the structure was mesmerizing. Each cluster of runes, its own sentence, ran into others complementing and subtly altering their meanings. There in the center of the map was the gem sitting beneath a tree.

  “Do you see anything?” Brandson asked, his voice polite.

  “There is something here,” Alaric said pointing to large runes at the top of the map. “What do you make of this, Gustav?”

  The wizard glanced where Alaric was pointing and snorted. “The valley of Kordan. That’s one we understand.”

  “Yes,” Alaric answered, “but this here, what you translated ‘of’ could have another meaning.”

  Everyone was looking at him.

  “Literally it means: which is the same as,” Alaric continued. “So instead of: the valley of Kordan, it would be: that which is the same as the valley of Kordan.” He met five blank stares.

  “Meaning,” he said, “that there are two valleys. The valley of Kordan, which is what we’re in, and the valley that is similar to it.”

  “We’re looking in the wrong place?” asked Brandson, his face stunned.

  “It’s possible.”

  “Let me see that,” snapped Gustav, snatching the map from Alaric’s hands. He poured over the runes, holding the map inches from his nose. “I suppose that could be one interpretation,” he said, “but it’s hardly the most straightforward reading.”

  Douglon took the map back across the table and set it squarely in front of himself. “Another valley with these two rocks?” The dwarf pointed to two notations on the map. “There’s the Rocks of the Bear at the top of the map, and Mother’s Rock halfway down the left side.”

  “Mother’s Rock?” asked Alaric.

  Brandson nodded. “It’s on the ridge west of town. It looks like a mother holding a child.”

  Gustav cleared his throat. “The legend says that a woman, Kessera, was so beautiful that an elf lord fell in love with her. They married, some say against her will, and a year later, she bore him a son. The elf was so jealous of Kessera’s love for her child that he cursed them,” he dropped his voice to a dramatic whisper, “and turned them to stone!”

  “That’s a charming story,” Alaric said, glancing at Ayda. “What’s the moral? Never marry an elf?”

  “Never anger an elf,” she corrected him.

  “Probably good advice,” Alaric said.

  “Seems like an elf would turn someone into a tree rather than a stone,” Douglon said.

  “Elves turn themselves into trees,” Ayda corrected him. “And it isn’t a punishment. It’s lovely.”

  “Anyway,” Brandson said, coming up beside Alaric, “those two rocks put Kordan’s Blight right in the middle of the map. The valley we are in is wider than the one on the map, but besides that—” Brandson cocked his head to the side, peering at the upside down map. “It’s Bone Valley!”

  Milly, standing next to Douglon, shook her head. “The rocks are in the wrong place.”

  “Not from where I’m standing,” Brandson answered. He grabbed the map. “Bone Valley is over the ridge to the west of us—the ridge that has Mother’s Rock. If we flip the map over, like this, so that Mother’s Rock is on the east side of the map, instead of the west, then the map fits Bone Valley, complete with a set of ruins at its southern end named Bear Stronghold.” Brandson grinned at everyone.

  “You people need to stop naming things after bears around here,” Douglon said, but he was grinning, too.

  “Bear Stronghold wasn’t named after the animal,” Milly said. “It was a small fortress where the chieftain of a mountain clan defended his people from an attack. It is said he fought as fiercely as a bear.”

  Gustav
grabbed the map. “Yes! That could be what it says. It is an old-fashioned word that today would translate to rock, but it has the idea of solidness and strength. I would say that ‘stronghold’ would be a fine translation.”

  Alaric had come to the same conclusion, but he was impressed Gustav had picked up on the nuance. Alaric felt his pulse quicken. Kordan’s Wellstone was in the next valley. The antidote was almost within his reach. He rubbed the ruby at his neck through the pouch, picturing the darkness swirling around with the red light.

  Douglon rubbed his hands together. “Well, at first light, we should stop wasting time and find our treasure. Brandson, please tell me there’s just one lone tree in the center of the valley.”

  Brandson and Milly exchanged glances. “I’m not sure.”

  “It’s right over the hill. Haven’t you ever hunted there?”

  “No one hunts in Bone Valley,” Brandson said. “There aren’t any animals. The lake there has no outlet, so the water’s gone bitter. Besides…”

  Everyone looked at him expectantly.

  “It’s supposed to be haunted,” Milly finished.

  “By what?” Douglon asked. “People who bury treasure?”

  “By the ghosts of people who were killed by a dragon,” Brandson said.

  Gustav looked sharply at Brandson, his eyes eager. “A dragon?”

  “A local legend about a dragon?” Alaric said, reaching for paper to write it down.

  “It was a long time ago,” Brandson said, “I don’t know any more of the story than that a dragon came and ate people. But no one goes into Bone Valley today. I went over the top of the ridge on a dare when I was a kid, but I didn’t go all the way down the other side. It was eerie. Part of the valley is forested, but it was unnaturally quiet.”

  “Well, ghosts don’t scare me, and you’d know if there was still a dragon in that valley,” Douglon said. “If no one goes there, then there’s a good chance our treasure has been left alone. I say tomorrow morning, we go see what it’s like over there.”

  “Yes,” said Ayda. “Bone Valley sounds lovely.”

  Chapter 12

  The sky had barely begun to lighten when they left the next morning. A mist skulked along the ground, and Alaric crept behind the others, beads of moisture clinging to him and dampening his clothes before they even reached the forest at the edge of Milly’s farm.

 

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