Blood Of Kings: The Shadow Mage

by Paul Freeman

  “Open the door!” Tomas bellowed. “I have an injured woman in need of urgent aid.”

  “Come back tomorrow, there is none here who can help you at this hour.” The doorkeeper slammed the slot closed.

  Tomas gently placed Aliss down, propping her against the wall. “Open these gates! Or by all of the gods in the heavens I will rip it off myself.” With that he drew his sword, the length of the polished blade gleamed in the moonlight. He drew back and slammed it against the door. There was a mighty thud, and the hatch opened again.

  “I said…” the monk began but was cut off by Tomas stooping to eye level with him.

  “Your hide will be the first I skin from its wretched bones and pin to these gates. Now fetch Brother Joshan,” Tomas said levelly, the truth of the threat as plain in the tone of his voice as in the words.

  The gatekeeper swallowed hard. “Brother Joshan is abed, he will…”

  “Wake him. Now!”

  “Aye, very well. Wait here.” The monk licked his lips and scuttled off.

  Tomas closed his eyes, breathing in deep breaths as he struggled to rein in his emotions. Beside him, Aliss groaned.

  Quickly he bent down to her, cursing himself for flinching at the sight of her wounds. Her once beautiful face was now unrecognisable, raw red where the skin had melted away, all of her hair gone, her head scarred and scorched. Despair threatened to swamp him, manifesting as a physical ache in his chest. He had arrived too late, and now she would die.

  The heavy door creaked open a crack. Yellow, flickering light spilled out from within as several, torch and lantern-bearing monks huddled together. Tomas looked up from his knees, exhaustion robbing him of the ability to even stand. His vision blurred as tears welled in his eyes. “Joshan…” he croaked.

  “I am here, Tomas.”

  He felt a touch on his shoulder, and a warm sensation flowing through him, easing a hundred and more aches, soothing over-tired muscles. Grey-robed monks surrounded them, gently taking Aliss from his arms. He was powerless to resist them as he longed to give into the soothing touch of Brother Joshan. It was all he could do to grit his teeth and push the old priest away.

  “No! Save it for Aliss. Save her for me, Josh,” he whispered the name once used in affection… long ago… The older man’s eyes narrowed as the blacksmith’s words were snatched away by the night breeze.

  “What have you done, Tomas?” Brother Joshan asked as he noticed the dried blood on the younger man’s clothing and arms and face.

  “I have been down roads not travelled in a very long time. I fear there will be no turning aside this time.”

  “Oh Tomas.” Joshan sighed.

  He followed the herd of cowled monks through the gate and into the courtyard of the monastery. Surrounded by sturdy walls and a stout wooden door, the home of the monks had the look of a fort.

  “Take her to my room,” Joshan instructed the monks. They carried her into the largest building in the compound and carried her up a set of narrow, wooden steps.

  Tomas took in the sparse room of the monk, as he followed the small entourage through, having to stoop beneath the low doorway. A small wooden-framed cot lay against one wall. On the wall opposite covered in scrolls, leather-bound books, and ink pots sat a desk and one straight-backed, uncomfortable-looking chair. Aliss was placed on the bed.

  “Thank you, brothers. Please leave us.” The monks filed out the door, leaving Tomas alone, other than the still form of his woman, with the old priest. Joshan turned to him then. “How many did you kill?”

  Tomas bowed and shook his head. “My recollections are vague,” he answered, unable to look up and meet the glare of the older man.

  “You will have to leave this place. They will hunt you down,” the old monk said.

  “Such concerns matter little enough now.”

  “Aye,” Brother Joshan said, turning his attention back to the stricken girl. “She is beyond my help, Tomas.”

  “You have not yet tried.” The blacksmith glared at the priest, rising to his full height.

  “Tomas, she is beyond the help of anyone. It would be a kindness to ease her pain and allow her to pass into the arms of the All Father.”

  “I have seen what you can do. Watched you bring men back to life from terrible wounds. Why will you not help her?” Tomas’ voice trembled.

  “Sit, Tomas,” the smaller man instructed, the tone in his voice brooking no argument. “She is sleeping now. I have helped ease her torment a little.” His eyes strayed to where the woman lay on the narrow cot. “Sit, please.” He produced a jug and two clay goblets, and poured a dark crimson liquid into both. “We have travelled a long dark road, you and I. It seems a very long time ago since we left the bosom of the king’s court. A very long time ago indeed.” Joshan sighed and sipped from the cup.

  “Aye, a lifetime… two lifetimes,” Tomas agreed. “You were once a trusted advisor to the king. You had wealth, position, fame. You need not have given that up,” he said as he glanced around the sparse room.

  “And you,” a smile creased the monk’s weather-beaten face, “once a headstrong champion, the best of them all. Now look at us.” The humour made his eyes glow for an instant.

  “Royal Guard or not, a low-born soldier is easily discarded by the nobility. Tossed aside like an expensive cloak, no longer in fashion at court,” he spat the words bitterly.

  Joshan smiled sadly. “You challenged the king’s nephew to a duel, Tomas. And worse, you won! Do you even remember the name of the girl you fought over? I’ll wager not. For that you will ever be a hunted man.”

  Both men sat in contemplative silence, savouring the wine, until a knock on the door interrupted their thoughts. “Brother Joshan, the brother abbot would have words,” a muffled voice came from outside the room.

  “Tell him I will come shortly,” the old priest answered.

  “I have brought more trouble to your door,” Tomas said. “It seems it is all I ever do.”

  Brother Joshan smiled. “Aye well, you make an old man’s life interesting and a little more bearable. He is likely concerned at having an armed man and badly wounded woman bang on his door at such a late hour.”

  “Will he bid us leave?”

  “No, but he will be most anxious to know when you intend to do so.”

  “Why, Josh, why did you flee with me all those years ago? There was no need. It is I who was condemned. You had power, influence, wealth. Why did you give it all up?”

  “Nigh on a score of years ago, I held a dying man in my arms. A friend, he bade me watch over his child and treat him as my own. I dare say he would have just cause to chastise me for the ill job I have done, but I have endeavoured to keep my promise… I have never told you this before, your mother…”

  Tomas flinched when Joshan brought up the subject of his mother. “Died giving birth to me, yes I know,” he said softly.

  “It is not what I was going to say. Your mother was a most beautiful woman. When we were younger your father and I competed for her affections. I was young and fearless with a growing reputation at Court. Your father was an apprentice blacksmith. I promised her wealth and a life of adventure. She chose the dependable man that was your father over the uncertain future she would have with me. She chose right.”

  “You are one of a kind, Josh; a king’s mage taking in a blacksmith’s orphan.” Tomas shook his head. “I was not so young that I could not have fended for myself.”

  “Aye, I don’t doubt it. You were ever resourceful. It would not have sat well with me, though, seeing the child of an old friend, living on the streets. Mayhap, though, in the light of what has happened to us these past years, things may have turned out better.

  “We have travelled down some dark roads, you and I, dark roads indeed. We’ve done things I’m not proud of. Perhaps this is why I chose to see out my years in this place. The All Father gave me two gifts, one, the ability to kill men with these hands, and the other, the power to heal with them. He opene
d two roads for me and left me to decide which to choose. I like to think the choice I made in latter life was the right path. It is not so bad here. We worship the All Father in quiet contemplation and in turn he answers ours prayers in his own way. It is not such a bad life. I thought you settled. It made my heart swell with pride when you took up your father’s trade.” Joshan wiped away a stray tear.

  “Aye, I was happy for a while. I have no regrets over killing the king’s nephew. It was a fair duel. Had I not been low-born and he royalty, no more would have been said about the matter, but…”

  “Ah, it is always the ‘but’,” Joshan said.

  “Aye. Afterwards though, I did some bad things. I was so angry…” he trailed off.

  “Now the cycle continues,” the old monk said, his mouth set in a grim line. “The All Father is the creator of all. He created the world and everything in it. Even the gods worshipped in other lands were created by Him. He also created The Pit, and The Hag and all of the demons who live in the dark depths with her. Why did he do this? Why create something so evil? He did it because there must be balance in all things, light and dark, black and white. He created men and gave them free will and the ability to choose for themselves. Some men choose the light, others walk the darker path.”

  “Ursa,” Tomas suddenly said.

  “Ursa?”

  “The name of the girl we fought over. Her name was Ursa.”

  The old priest laid a hand on his companion’s shoulder. “It is time for a new chapter to unfold. Leave here, in the morning. I will see that Aliss does not suffer. I will not leave her until… until the end. Go somewhere far beyond the king’s reach. It will not take long for word to reach his ears of how a blacksmith slew the magistrate’s guards. He still searches for you, even after all these years.

  “We made some bad choices, Tomas. We should have fled south where they would never have found us. Instead we chose a life of villainy. It shames me that my name will be written down by future scholars as a common brigand.”

  “We were many things, Josh,” Tomas grinned, “but never common.”

  “Will you go?” Joshan asked, his eyes eager for an answer. Tomas simply shook his head. “You mean to stay and take your vows? Live the life of a simple monk?” Again Tomas shook his head.

  “If you will not help me, Josh, there is another.”

  “No, Tomas, you cannot mean to… I won’t allow it!” Joshan’s eyes glowered.

  “You won’t allow it? You refuse me aid and now you think to bar me from seeking the help of another?” Tomas stood up then.

  “Please, Tomas, allow Aliss to pass over in peace. Do not do what you are contemplating.”

  “Enough!” Anger contorted Tomas’ face. “I will take her from here and travel to the Great Wood. There I shall search out Haera and beseech her to help. She knows me well enough. She owes me.”

  Joshan’s body and spirit visibly deflated. “Well, then I have truly failed your father. If you give Aliss into the care of that witch, then I fear both of your souls are lost.”

  Duke Normand: Duchy of Lenstir

  “No, no, no!” Duke Normand shouted at the boy as he was put through his paces by a grizzled weapon-master. “Move your feet, you look like a lumbering ox.” The boy glanced over and quickly turned away again before the duke could see the tears glistening in his eyes.

  “Again,” the old weapon-master said, dropping into a defensive stance.

  The boy swung viciously at the weapon-master’s head, but the old warrior calmly parried each swipe with his own blade. The sound of the clashing swords filled the air around the practice ground, as other, far more experienced men were put through an array of drills.

  “You are too hard on him. He worships the very earth you walk on.”

  Normand swung around at the sound of a female voice.

  “My lady Isabetha,” Normand said, his eyes widening in surprise. “I was not informed of your arrival. Did you send word?”

  “No,” she answered, her eyes sparkling mischievously. “I thought to catch you unawares.”

  “How so?” The duke regarded the smiling and pretty face of Lady Isabetha, in consternation. His eyes wandered from the elaborate mountain of blonde curls on top of her head, down across the soft line of her exposed neck and shoulders, to the plunging neckline of the gown, most unsuitable to be wearing on a parade ground full of leering warriors. “You look…”

  “Wretched? Travel-worn?” She arched an eyebrow.

  “Lovely… beautiful as ever,” Normand stammered and was rewarded with a throaty laugh.

  “Ooh, I really have surprised you, to have you tripping over your own tongue. Let’s expose those dirty little secrets you are hiding.”

  Normand’s face went pale. “Secrets? I assure you I have none. I…”

  “I’m jesting, Erik. You are always too serious. It is your greatest fault.”

  “I’m sorry. You just… I… you caught me by surprise.”

  “Well, that was my intention.” She smiled.

  Just then, something caught Normand’s attention and he swung back to the practice field. “Get up! Before you make an even bigger fool of yourself.” He turned away from the boy then, who had tripped and fallen face first into the muddy field. The ten-year-old boy looked tiny beside the imposing figure of the weapon-master. Even so, he stood stoically before him, his mouth firmly fixed in a grim line in an obvious attempt to stiffen his trembling lip.

  “Erik, please. He is your son, not one of your soldiers. Have a care,” Lady Isabetha said.

  Duke Normand swung around to her, his eyes blazing. “Yes. He is my son, and one day he will be duke. This is not Rothberry Castle where his greatest care will be which coat to choose for the king’s feast. Here, we are surrounded by enemies. To the south only a mountain range separates us from barbarian hordes only too eager to plunder our lands. Those mountains are filled with brigands, spies and the gods know what else. Huge white-furred creatures who walk upright like men wander down from the highest peaks and attack travellers, gutting them with claws as big and sharp as daggers. Surrounding us are large, so-called, friendly duchies. Yet, they raid my lands, carrying off whatever they can find, and then attempt to place the blame on each other or marauding brigands. Their aim? To destabilise us until we are so weak that they may walk in and take everything for their own. When I protest to the king, I am met with a wall of silence. Yes, he is only a boy, but in the south boys need to become men very quickly, or they will surely perish.”

  Lady Isabetha took a step back from the furious onslaught of the duke. Her lip twitched and she instantly regained her composure. “White-haired beasts that walk like men?” She arched an eyebrow. “Bedtime tales for children I think.” Two full lips, painted a deep red, parted in a smile.

  “Often as not they will begin feeding before their victim is even dead. They are particularly fond of the heart and liver.” Normand did not return the smile. “Now tell me – why have you come all this way south, from the comforts of the king’s court?” His eyes bored into hers.

  “Can a lady not visit a… friend?” She ran a painted fingernail up the centre of his chest and let it trail off when it reached his chin.

  Normand snatched her hand squeezing it until she flinched. “No,” he answered before bringing the hand up to his lips and kissing it tenderly. She laughed then and stood on the tips of her toes, reaching up to kiss him passionately. He crushed her against the stable wall. He breathed heavily in her ear, “I want you. Now.”

  “Here? In front of all your men?” He could feel her hot breath on his face.

  He grabbed her by the hand and marched back towards the castle, dragging her with him. She giggled as she tried to keep pace with his long strides.

  After their lovemaking they lay side by side on his fur-covered bed, both staring at the ceiling.

  “Why did you never marry again, after… after your wife died?” she asked him.

  He turned to regard her, paus
ing to drink in the sight of her lying naked beside him, assessing every curve as he would a theatre of war on the eve of battle. “Are you interested in the role?” His answer elicited a laugh from her.

  “Gods no. One of us would not see the end of the year if you and I were to marry. I would end up as food for one of your mountain beasts, if I hadn’t poisoned your soup first.” She laughed again. “Your boy’s eyes look so sad. He has never known the love of a mother, has he?”

  “He is cared for well enough by the servants.”

  “It is not the same,” she said, a note of melancholy in her voice.

  “It is enough for me, and it is enough for him. Now tell me why you have come. I enjoy our trysts, somehow though, I doubt you have travelled all this way because you yearned to be with me.” He pushed himself off the bed and began pulling on his breeches. He felt her eyes on him as she cast an appraising eye over his lean and muscular form. “Fetch me some wine,” she said.

  “Fetch it yourself. I have much to do,” he barked

  “Typical man. Satisfy your needs on a woman and then abandon her, wineless and cheerless.”

  “Why are you here, Isa? You arrive unannounced, like a surprise storm blown down from the mountains. You make love to me while you tell me I do not know how to raise my son correctly. Do you wish to take the boy from me and teach him the ways of the king’s court?” He flung his arms out in exasperation.

  “That would be no bad thing. You teach him to ride and fight well enough, but there are other skills a man… a future duke needs to know.”

  “Enough! Tell me what you are doing here.”

  “Very well. The king sent me.”

  “To spy on me?”

  “Yes,” she answered, her eyes locked on his. Was there an edge of doubt… of fear in her voice?

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Why did the King send me? Or why have I admitted it to you?”

  “Both,” he answered before walking across the room where a jug and two goblets sat on a table. He filled both cups with dark red wine and handed one to Isabetha.