Shadow's master s-3

by Jon Sprunk

  Egil came back, his lantern bobbing with his strides. “We're making good time. We should reach Jarnflein before next rest.”

  Caim tried to look through Kit. She kissed him and disappeared. “Is that a settlement?”

  “Yes, somewhat. It's a meeting place. The tribes stop there when passing through following the herds. It can get a bit wild, which is why the hunters like it. It's also a good place to restock.”

  Caim nodded. They needed supplies, especially oil for the lanterns. He hadn't thought much of it until they were on the road, surrounded by darkness and leagues of ice and snow.

  Malig called out from the back of the line. “They got girls there, right?”

  Egil grinned through his short beard. “Aye, northern women with hearty appetites. Don't say I didn't warn you.”

  “Bring them on!” Malig laughed. “I've got a big appetite myself.”

  “What else can you tell us about this area?” Caim asked.

  Egil pointed along the path they followed. “This is Luca's Run, and it goes all the way to Grippenheimr, which is about as far north as anybody wants to go.”

  Caim gazed ahead, trying to imagine what lay beyond the horizon. “Who controls it?”

  “No one anymore. It used to be Snow Owl land, but they moved out west some years back.”

  “What?” Dray looked around like he was just seeing the wastes for the first time. “And leave all this behind?”

  “It's the Bear tribe,” Egil said. “They've been expanding their territories. None of the other tribes can stand against them.”

  Malig ran gloved fingers through his frozen beard, breaking off small icicles. “Then you should all band together. That's what we did in Eregoth. Kicked that Eviskine bastard and his witch-”

  “Malig.” Caim raised his voice. “Take the point for a while.”

  Malig glared at him, but then clucked his horse and cantered ahead. Everyone else fell quiet, and Caim was glad for it.

  The leagues passed by with awful monotony. The wastes were awash in shades of gray and black. Even the few streams and creeks they crossed were gray, with pale fish darting in their currents. An ache developed behind Caim's temples, dull at first, but it grew in strength as the day stretched on. With his hood pulled down and his eyes half-closed, he didn't see the town until they were almost upon it. Egil's whistle made him look up. Cloaked in snow, the town's outer houses were all but invisible against the wastes. There was no outer wall, not even a palisade. Huge, humpbacked animals wandered outside the town without shepherds or watchers, grazing on the pale grass. They looked like buffalo, but with pale, silver fleece and curled horns.

  As they passed through the outskirts, the door of a longhouse swung open, and five men spilled out in a pool of orange light. They rolled around on the ground like a pack of dogs, punching and kicking each other. Eventually, one of the Northmen rose to his feet. Wobbling, with blood running from his mouth and snow in his beard, he growled something at them and staggered back inside the house. A moment later, shouts and sounds of breakage could be heard within.

  Traffic increased as they rode deeper into the town. Unlike the trade settlement where they'd left Teromich, there were no southerners to be seen. Caim kept his hood up, but the Eregoths fit in better, all being large and rawboned themselves. Inside the town proper, there were torches and bowls of burning dung to light the way. The streets teemed with Northmen, powerful warriors dressed in furs and hides, running children, old men, and yellow-haired women who watched the Eregoths with frank, curious gazes. Dogs roamed among the people. Not skinny curs like the ones found in southern cities, but shaggy mastiffs with thick shoulders and long fangs.

  Caim steered clear of both men and wolf-dogs, finally stopping in front of a tall building sporting a rack of antlers over its door. Across the way, an old Northman pounded on a piece of iron with a massive hammer, the light from the forge reflecting off his huge, sweaty shoulders.

  “Where can we hole up?” Caim asked as the others gathered around. The noise and the smells were making his headache worse. All he wanted to do was get off the street.

  “There's places that hire out rooms.” Egil pointed farther down the street, toward the town center.

  “Is there some sort of market area?”

  “Just follow the hollering. You can't miss it.”

  Caim looked to Dray. “I'll find a place to stay while you three go with Egil. Get everything we'll need for an extended journey.”

  “For how many days?”

  “Extended,” Caim repeated. “I'll find you at the market. Try to stay out of trouble.”

  Aemon kneed his steed closer to Caim. “I'll go with you.”

  “No-”

  But the others were already following Egil through the crowd, and Caim was too tired to argue. His head felt ripe to explode. He clucked to his mount and headed down the street. At least Aemon rode quietly without asking questions.

  Kit appeared above him, hanging upside down. “There's a nice place up ahead. The rooms are a little small, but the beds look comfortable and cleaner than most places. Oh, and the owner's wife makes fresh bread all day long. It smells incredible.”

  Caim looked at her, trying to figure out if she was serious. What the hell did she care if the bread was fresh? With Kit floating by his shoulder, he guided his horse past a knot of Northmen with cloaks made from long, white feathers. They had just entered a narrow street flanked by narrow wooden houses when a sharp pain punched through the center of Caim's chest. He bent forward, unable to breathe. It felt like an arrow had rammed right through him. He looked down expecting to see blood spilled down his front, but there was nothing.

  Kit hovered in front of him. “Caim? What's wrong? Caim?”

  He couldn't help wheezing as fresh air dribbled into his lungs. Shivers racked his body, and he felt light-headed.

  “You all right, Caim?” Aemon asked. “You don't look so good.”

  The clansman took the reins and guided both their mounts out of the flow of people. Caim shook and gasped for breath under a wooden archway hung with icicles while Aemon watched with a concerned gaze. Kit's fingers ran up and down his arm.

  “I'm okay,” Caim finally managed to say when he could breathe again. But he felt wrung out. “Caught a touch of something.”

  “You need to get out of this cold,” Kit said.

  At the same time, Aemon said, “You should get someplace warm.”

  Caim nodded. “First place we see.”

  Aemon returned his reins but took the lead, pushing through the crowd. They stopped at a boarding house sandwiched between two alehouses. Caim slid out of his saddle and managed to stay upright even as the rest of the world swayed. He didn't complain as Aemon tied up the horses.

  “Come on, Caim,” Kit whispered in his ear. “Just a few more steps to the door.”

  Caim pushed off from his horse. Putting one foot in front of the other, he passed Aemon, who held open the door, and staggered inside. His boots scuffed along the bare floor of a tight hallway. The air was stuffy with warmth and woodsmoke, clogging in his throat. Shaggy cloaks hung from pegs on the wall. Caim heard Aemon's voice, followed by a woman's, and then the Eregoth was beside him again. “Got us a couple rooms upstairs, Caim. You think you can make it?”

  Caim let himself be helped up a flight of high steps and around a couple turns. A door opened, and then Aemon was lowering him onto a bed. The mattress was lumpy and stiff, but Caim collapsed without bothering with his boots or clothes and shut his eyes. The light dimmed as footsteps receded. There was talking, but it was miles and miles away in the fog that had set up in his head.

  Then a soft voice whispered to him. “Rest easy, Caim. I'm here.”

  He smiled as Kit rubbed his shoulders with a touch that felt almost real.

  Caim woke up feeling a world better. He had slept all night and through most of the next day. Sitting up, his head didn't hurt as much, and the hollow pain in his chest was gone, but mainly he
was famished.

  “See who's finally awake.” Kit settled down on the mattress beside him. “You look better. I guess you really needed a rest. You've been pushing yourself too hard.”

  Caim ran a hand through his stiff hair. “I guess so. Where's everyone?”

  “Dray and Malig went out after noonday. I think they're in a tavern on the east side of town. Horrible place. Egil's shopping for those supplies you wanted.”

  “That figures.”

  “What?” she asked.

  “Nothing. What about Aemon? I think he's the one who brought me here, but my head's all stuffed up. I can hardly remember where I am.”

  Kit pointed to the wall. “He's in the next room. He's been checking in on you every once in a while. I think he was afraid you might die.”

  “The way I was feeling, I might have welcomed a quick end.”

  She batted at his chest. “Don't say that!”

  As her fingers passed through him, something tickled in the back of Caim's brain. A half-formed memory, but it slipped away. “Well, I feel like a new man. Where's my clothes?”

  Kit trailed her fingers up his stomach. “I like you better without them.”

  “Kit, you just got done telling me I need to take things easy.”

  She poked him in the breastbone. Hard.

  “Hey!” Caim rubbed the spot. He'd felt her finger. “That-”

  The door pushed open, and Aemon poked his head in. “Hey, Caim! You're awake!”

  Caim glanced at Kit. “So it would seem. Can I have my clothes?”

  Aemon tossed Caim a package. Inside were his garments, cleaned and neatly folded. Even the holes had been mended. Aemon talked, mostly about the townsfolk, while Caim cleaned up in a washbasin and got dressed.

  “And you wouldn't believe some of the things these northern gals say,” Aemon said with a shake of his head. “It's enough to put the steel in your sword, if you know what I mean.”

  Feeling almost human, Caim strapped on his knives. “Don't get too comfortable with them. They're still Northmen, same as the ones who killed your kin in Eregoth.”

  Aemon lowered his gaze. “I know, Caim. I know why we're here.”

  Do you? Because I'm starting to doubt whether I know anymore. “Good. I could do with a drink and something warm to eat.”

  “Now you're talking.”

  They left the small room and went down a narrow flight of steps to a tight foyer. None of it was familiar to Caim. I must have been sicker than I realized.

  Once outside, Aemon took the lead. Caim breathed in the chill air, letting it wash the sleep from his brain as he followed through the sparse crowd.

  “Maybe you should go see one of those mud-men doctors, Caim.” Kit floated beside him. “Maybe they can fix whatever's wrong.”

  “Here?” He snorted and kept his attention on Aemon's broad back. “I'll be fine, Kit.”

  “You keep saying that, but what if it gets worse?”

  “I don't think it's anything a doctor could help with. I think it's tied to…you know…the shadows.”

  He closed his mouth, hoping she would volunteer something, a fresh hint about the mysterious world from which his powers sprang. But she just watched him with large, liquid eyes.

  “Are you going to tell me what happened back in the room?”

  Kit scrunched her eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “When you poked me, Kit. I felt it. Not a little tickle, either. You really touched me.”

  “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

  “How can you-?”

  Caim shut up as Aemon looked back, eyebrows lifted like he'd heard something. When he turned back around, Kit was gone. Caim growled under his breath as he tugged on his gloves.

  They entered a crowded street. Raucous voices echoed off the homes and shops. The town, Caim had already decided, possessed no plan or reason; it was just a pile of buildings built around, next to, and over to each other. Every Northman carried a weapon, usually more than one. Here in their natural element they were a loud, lusty people. He hoped Dray and Malig were behaving themselves, but that was almost too much to ask.

  Aemon and Caim jostled their way into a great market. Everything was open to the sky. Stalls and wagons lined the perimeter. The shouts of the hawkers combined into a droning cacophony mixed with braying animals and shrill pipes. People mingled about, but most were gathered at the middle of the plaza around a high platform. A row of people, men and women alike, stood upon the stage. It was hard to tell much about them from this distance, except that they were tied together, hand and foot. Prisoners? No. A sour taste filled the back of Caim's mouth as he looked closer. Slaves. One by one they were cut free and marched down from the platform as money changed hands.

  Looking at all the establishments around the plaza, Caim didn't know where to start searching for the others. In the end, it was Dray and Malig who found them. Caim and Aemon had paused at a tavern, thinking they would ask if anyone had seen their comrades, when a shout cut through the noise. Dray pushed through the crowd with Malig right behind him. They carried leather flasks and each had their arms draped around a pair of girls, all of them laughing and drinking. The girls looked about sixteen or seventeen. Maybe. Caim looked past his crew, half expecting to see a gang of angry fathers hot on their trail.

  “We thought you were dying,” Dray yelled over the crowd.

  “Yeah,” Malig echoed. “You don't look so bad now.”

  “Where's Egil?” Caim asked.

  “Who?” Dray asked.

  Malig shrugged. “Haven't seen him since this morning. But look what we found! Eh?” He grabbed a rounded buttock, evoking a squeal and more laughter.

  “We got a table,” Dray said. “Follow me.”

  Caim allowed the Eregoths to lead him to an outdoor tavern. Dray and Malig sat down and ordered another round of drinks. Caim spotted an empty chair against the wall and claimed it for himself. Aemon started to follow, but Caim waved for him to join his brother.

  A bony scullion with copper braids brought Caim a foaming tankard before he even sat down. He pantomimed putting something in his mouth, and she nodded, going back inside. Caim looked around as he sipped the malty beer. It was clear by the variety of garbs and attitudes that several different tribes of Northmen were represented in the square. Most of the men strode about like lords of creation. The inevitable squabbles this caused were quickly decided by blows or a sharing of drinks at the square's plethora of watering holes. The women were almost as brazen, and just as quick to start a fight when they thought they'd been wronged.

  Of his comrades, only Aemon was paying the crowd any mind. The others were too involved in getting to know their girls better. The serving woman returned with a trencher of brown stew and a steaming bread roll. Spurred on by the ache in his gut, Caim didn't bother waiting until it cooled before he started tearing off hunks of bread and dragging them through the stew. The meat was lean and chewy. If it came from the shaggy bison they'd seen outside town, he decided he liked it.

  As he sopped up the last bits, Caim glanced over at his comrades. Malig and Dray were tossing back cups like it was their last night, but Aemon stared into the crowd. His hands were clenched around his cup as if he wanted to crush it. Caim followed his gaze. In the center of the square, the slave auction continued. A rotund man in gray furs was addressing the crowd. Caim couldn't make it out, but he saw a slim girl standing on the stage. The first thing he noticed was the mane of rich, black hair that tumbled down her pale shoulders, and for a moment he saw Josey on the stage, shivering and frightened. He almost knocked his mug off the table before he calmed himself. Don't be crazy.

  A loud roar rose from the crowd as Northmen thrust their hands in the air. On the stage, the woman's shift had been torn away, leaving her naked before the multitude. She had the smoky eyes and bronze features of a southerner, maybe from Illmyn or Michaia. Caim was digging in his pouch to pay for the food when Aemon stood up.

  Caim
slapped down a handful of coppers. “Dray! We're leav-” Vertigo washed over him as he stood. He clenched his jaws and tried to shake it off. Gods be damned. Not again.

  Dray looked over with a frown. “Caim?”

  As Caim fought to stand up straight, something popped behind him.

  Before he could turn, a wall of heat struck him in the back, turning the air into a haze of boiling flame. The blast carried him over several tumbling chairs and dumped him hard on the ground against on overturned table. His ears hummed. Then sounds began to filter through the thunder in his head, muted screams and yelling from all sides.

  Crawling to his knees, Caim looked around at the market, which had been ripped apart. The southern side of the square was a curtain of fire. Fiery cinders swirled overhead amid a cloud of dense smoke. Northmen ran, trampling anyone who didn't move fast enough. Steel flashed here and there.

  Caim stood up as Aemon helped his brother out of a pile of people and furniture. Malig sported a big bruise over his right eye. By his scowl, he was ready to wreak some destruction of his own. The girls picked themselves up and scurried away.

  “Mal!” Caim shouted. “Go get the horses.”

  Aemon steadied his brother, who was looking around with wide, glassy eyes. Caim looked out over the crowd. The fire was spreading, and the people trapped in the market were becoming more violent in their attempts to escape. Egil emerged from the river of people, with two heavy sacks slung over his shoulder.

  “Let's go!” Caim shouted, but then a flash of red from the crowd caught his eye.

  Thirty paces behind Egil, a figure in a russet cloak was striding away through the mob. The Northmen didn't seem to notice him, for the figure flowed through their press as easily as a fish through still water. Caim pushed through a knot of leather-clad warriors after the cloaked individual. I must be crazy. I don't even know what I'm chasing.

  “Caim!”

  He turned his head at Aemon's call. A scuffle had broken out at the outdoor tavern. Four big Northmen were grappling with the brothers. Aemon bled from his nose while Dray was being choked. Shit!