Shadow and Flame

by Gail Z. Martin

  The walking corpses parted at Tormod’s command, allowing his soldiers to ride into the enclosed courtyard, where it looked as if a battle had already been fought. Much of the hard-packed ground was scorched and blackened, covered with piles of ash that drifted in the breeze. The courtyard smelled of putrid meat and decay. The dead men formed ranks between Tormod’s army and the frightened soldiers who defended Solsiden’s manor house.

  Connor could not stomach more than a glance at the dead men Tormod had called from their graves. These were not talishte, but the hastily buried victims of Reese’s hunger and Thrane’s excesses. Bloated and decomposing, skin blackened and sloughing off, they were the stuff of nightmares. Long fingernails protruded from shriveled, bony fingers. Empty, sunken eye sockets stared everywhere and nowhere, while the skin of the lips had pulled back to reveal the teeth in horrifying rictus. Some of the bodies were more recent dead, their death wounds still visible as bloody puncture marks on their arms and necks. Several of the corpses had their throats slit, as if Thrane and his brood were in such a hurry for the blood that they could not be patient enough to merely bite their victims.

  Despite the horrors, Thrane’s soldiers rallied, in between where the corpses stood at slack attention and the manor house itself. Ashen and wide-eyed with terror, they remained at their posts, weapons ready though Tormod’s better armed forces outnumbered them.

  “Throw down your weapons and surrender,” Tormod ordered. “Surrender now, and we won’t kill you.”

  “We can’t let you pass!” A young officer stood on the front steps of the manor, sword in hand, terrified but resolute. “Leave us. You have no business here.”

  Tormod spoke a word of power and the walking corpses moved forward faster than Connor would have believed possible. They climbed the steps after their quarry, advancing without fear. The soldiers cried out in terror, setting about themselves with their swords, but the dead vanguard never slowed, even as swords slashed away limbs and blades opened gashes in decomposing flesh. Relentlessly, the corpse army crushed the soldiers beneath their feet or against the walls, pressing forward until the manor house defenders were destroyed.

  Before Tormod had the chance to move toward the house, more soldiers streamed from the barracks in the rear of the courtyard. With a glance to assure himself that the corpses had been successful, Tormod turned to face the new foe. Several dozen soldiers attacked on foot, rallying with a battle cry.

  Tormod Solveig rode at the helm of his army like an avenging god, setting about himself with his sword and clearing a bloody path for his men to follow. Connor gave himself over to the Wraith Lord’s skill as Kierken Vandholt’s spirit animated his body. Together, Connor and Tormod led the way to the gates, leaving a wake of corpses behind them, bloodying themselves, shoulders to thighs, in the spattered gore of their enemies. Thrane’s soldiers fought well, but either Tormod’s magic had badly unnerved them or they realized there was no escape. The battle was fierce but short, and in the end, the courtyard lay littered with fresh bodies, and the hard-packed dirt ran with blood.

  “What of the talishte?” Connor asked. “How about Thrane?”

  Tormod nodded toward the ashes that now covered the ground in the courtyard. “My magic called the lesser talishte to their deaths in the sun,” he said. “Two dozen are dead. They were of middling power, neither Elders nor new fledges. I suspect Thrane sent the rest after the allied Elders.”

  “And Thrane?”

  Tormod shook his head. “I can’t sense Thrane or any powerful talishte. But I do sense strong magic blocking my power, a place deep beneath Solsiden that I can’t reach.” He shrugged. “It would be like Thrane to ward a stronghold. He had a fear of necromancers, and he sent assassins against me more than once, although Rinka and I overcame them fairly easily.” The hard glint in Tormod’s eyes made Connor sure that it had been anything but ‘easy.’

  “Find the mortal servants and take them prisoner,” Tormod shouted to his soldiers. “Offer them the chance to surrender, but if they fight you, kill them. I want the boy, Eljas Hennoch, taken alive.”

  Connor, guided by the Wraith Lord, led one section of the troops into the manor house’s upper floors, while Tormod rallied another third to descend into the cellars. The rest of the soldiers remained in the courtyard, on guard should more of Thrane’s men appear from a hidden redoubt.

  Connor suspected that the servants had watched the courtyard battle from the windows, because they offered no resistance, sinking to their knees with their hands raised in surrender at the sight of the soldiers. Connor led the way going door to door, weapons ready, finding only a few dozen terrified servants, who prostrated themselves and begged for their lives.

  “Round them up,” Connor ordered. “Collect them all in one or two rooms. Check them for weapons. Don’t let anyone out until Commander Solveig or I give the order.” He left a dozen soldiers to round up the servants on the first floor, and took the rest up the wide stairway to the second floor.

  The second floor was in worse shape, with the damage from the Cataclysm rendering one wing uninhabitable. Most of the rooms were empty, although a few frightened servants, cowering in alcoves, threw themselves on the soldiers’ mercy. One soldier remained guarding a door at the end of the hallway. When he saw the well-armed invaders heading his way, he threw down his sword and raised his hands in surrender.

  “Where’s Eljas Hennoch?” Connor demanded, though he was quite sure he could guess.

  “In there,” the soldier replied, kneeling as the soldiers grew closer. “Please don’t kill me! I didn’t hurt him. I don’t know anything!”

  “Take his weapons and tie his hands,” Connor ordered with a glance toward two of his men. “We’ll let General Solveig decide what to do with him.” He looked at the captured soldier. “Give me your keys to the door.”

  “Please don’t take my keys!” the man begged. “Lord Thrane promised to do terrible things if I fail my duty. Please, kill me and then take the keys.”

  Connor looked at the frightened man with pity. “We’ve come to kill Lord Thrane,” he said. “Now, give me the keys.”

  Sobbing with terror, the soldier removed the keys from his belt and tossed them on the floor at Connor’s feet. “Take him away,” Connor ordered, and the remaining soldiers closed around him as Connor turned toward the locked door.

  “Stand back!” he shouted through the door. “We mean you no harm. Stand away from the door.” Connor turned the key in the lock and opened the door, sword at the ready.

  “Did my father send you?” A young man stood against the far wall of the room. Bars covered the windows, though the rest of the room was the comfortable bedroom of a middling nobleman. A stack of books lay on a writing table, along with a lyre and a pennywhistle.

  “Eljas Hennoch?” Connor asked. The prisoner carefully kept both hands in view and made no move toward the soldiers, giving them no opportunity to mistake his motives.

  “I’m Eljas,” the young man replied. Although he was pale and slender, he appeared to be clean and adequately fed.

  “We serve Lord Penhallow, allied with Lord McFadden,” Connor said. “Our forces have come to destroy Thrane and his get. We bear you no ill will. If you’ll come peaceably, we’ll get you to safety.”

  Eljas did not move. “Is my father dead?”

  The young man had a quiet courage that impressed Connor, and maintained his dignity despite his reduced status. “I don’t know,” Connor answered honestly. “His troops are at Castle Reach, and I have no word of how the battle goes.”

  Eljas inclined his head. “Thank you,” he said quietly. He glanced toward the window, noting the afternoon light, which was far spent. “You’ll want to be gone before sunset,” he observed.

  Despite Eljas’s self-possession, Connor saw fear and resignation in the young man’s eyes. “Have Thrane or Reese bound you to them? Read your blood?” he asked.

  Eljas shook his head. “No, though they’ve threatened time and
again.” Moving slowly, so as not to cause alarm, he carefully pushed up both sleeves and held his unmarked forearms out for inspection, then drew open the neck of his shirt to show the smooth, unscarred skin of his neck.

  Connor nodded, relieved. There’s no telling what the Spike will do to those tightly bound by the kruvgaldur to Thrane and his get. At least Eljas is spared that much.

  “Bind his wrists as a precaution,” Connor ordered the soldiers, “until one of our talishte can assure us that he’s not bound to Thrane. He’s to be treated cordially unless he causes trouble,” he added with a warning glance toward Eljas. “Place him with the servants until I call for him.”

  Eljas made a shallow bow. “Thank you, sir,” he said, and dared to meet Connor’s gaze. “My father had no love of Lord Thrane and no interest in his schemes. I was his surety. He was a pawn in this as surely as I was. I doubt that will spare his life, but it needed to be said.”

  Connor nodded. “Understood, though I can make no promises or guarantees.”

  “Then I trust you all the more for your honesty,” Eljas replied, holding out his wrists to be bound. Two soldiers led him away, and Connor watched him go before turning back to the remaining soldiers.

  “Let’s clear what’s left of the upstairs, and then get back to the courtyard. There’s work to do,” Connor ordered.

  Several candlemarks later, Connor and Tormod waited in the darkness with Penhallow, Dolan, Grimur, three of the Knights of Esthrane, and a dozen talishte soldiers, as well as Elek, a scout. “Looks like Thrane’s Elders took the bait,” Elek reported. “We did what you said—told our extended broods that the allied Elders were moving half their get to a new safe house. The rest stayed behind and waited. The traitor got word to Thrane, because his talishte hit us right where you figured they would.”

  “Is the fight still on?” Penhallow asked.

  Elek nodded. “Unequally matched, to my eye. With Onyx destroyed, there are only three Elders left with us, now that Gray went to handle the Plainsmen and the Wraith Lord is with you.” Even with Sapphire and Jade destroyed, that left five of the rogue Elders who sided with Thrane.

  “And are all of the rogue Elders in the fight?” Connor asked the question, but it was the Wraith Lord who sought the answer.

  “Our scouts have confirmed that Aubergine is here,” Elek replied. “He and his brood left Meroven last night.” He smirked. “That’s how we found the traitor in Carlisle’s extended brood. He had a lover among Aubergine’s get. Carlisle has disposed of him.”

  Penhallow nodded. “The Knights of Esthrane and the ‘loyal’ get—they struck from the rear as planned?”

  “Yes,” Elek said. “But the battle is fierce. I wouldn’t like to wager money on the outcome.”

  Just your existence, Connor thought.

  Such is ever the case, the Wraith Lord responded silently. As you well know by now.

  “I came to tell you that we’ve spotted Amber, Emerald, and Saffron fighting our Elders with their broods,” Elek reported. “With luck, that means only Red remains with Thrane tonight.”

  “One Elder and a talishte of Thrane’s age will be challenging enough,” Penhallow replied, “since Thrane is sure to have Reese’s men as well. Maybe Reese himself, if he’s healed sufficiently.” Pentreath Reese might not have been old enough or powerful enough to have been one of the Elders, but he was still strong enough to pose a significant threat.

  “None of the talishte I destroyed were of any significant age,” Tormod said, and if it made him nervous to be a necromancer among ancient talishte warriors, he did not show it. “That tells me Thrane and Reese, along with their favorites and your rogue Elder, are likely in his hidden room.”

  Elek nodded. “I’d say so.” He glanced at the small team headed for Solsiden. “I wish you good hunting,” he said, though he sounded skeptical.

  “You also,” Penhallow replied. With that, Elek disappeared into the night, headed back to the fight.

  “It changes nothing,” the Wraith Lord said.

  “True, but confirmation is always helpful,” Dolan concurred. “Although I have never fully trusted scouts’ reports.” He gave a grim smile. “I know from experience how easily appearances can be staged to mislead.”

  “Agreed,” Grimur replied. “Is McFadden in position to take advantage of the shift if we win?”

  “Blaine had a thorough briefing ahead of time,” Penhallow said. “He was part of the planning process, and he had tactics in place to capitalize on any opportunities we create for him. This is really a two-pronged attack in the same battle: us against the talishte, and Blaine against the mortals.”

  Talishte warriors, a necromancer—and me, Connor thought. I must be out of my mind.

  And us, the Wraith Lord corrected, emphasizing the plural. Don’t forget—most of our group are mages as well. Neither Thrane nor Reese have magic. We are a formidable enemy.

  We have no idea how many talishte Thrane and Reese can field against us, Connor fretted.

  You’ve heard the reports, the Wraith Lord replied. Thrane seems to have spread himself thin. He’s overconfident. That’s exactly where we want him—and why we must win on our first try. If he becomes wary, he’ll be much more difficult to destroy.

  Connor had his own opinions about how to define an ‘easy’ kill and he was sure the night’s work was not what he had in mind, but he held his tongue. No doubt the Wraith Lord was privy to his thoughts. None of us believe this will be easy, Bevin, the Wraith Lord said. Only that it may be less difficult. It’s a slight distinction, but an important one nonetheless.

  Securing Solsiden had been the first step. Penhallow had brought a dozen of his most trusted talishte fighters with them, men of whose loyalty he was certain, and three of the Knights of Esthrane came under Dolan’s command.

  Mortals think talishte are invincible, Connor thought. Here I am, surrounded by some of the oldest, most powerful talishte, and I wish that were true.

  Beneath Solsiden were cellars, dungeons, and catacombs, and according to Grimur, therein lay a weakness—and the route to find Thrane.

  “I knew Lord Arvo, at King Merrill’s court,” Connor mused as they followed Grimur. Before the Cataclysm, Solsiden had been Lord Arvo’s manor. “He was on the War Council. I’m sure he took no notice of me. He and my former master, Lord Garnoc, frequently disagreed.”

  “Arvo was a pompous ass,” Penhallow replied. “He was part of the anti-talishte faction of lords, and put pressure on Merrill to keep us banned from court.” Connor suspected that Pollard knew that, and may have found a perverse satisfaction claiming Arvo’s family manor for his talishte lords.

  “This is the place.” Arin Grimur had led them out into the middle of a deserted pasture. Tall grasses, as high as Connor’s thighs, bent in waves in the summer wind.

  “Are you certain?” Dolan asked, peering around them in the darkness. Penhallow and Dolan had specifically chosen the dark of the moon to make their move, and out here, far from the manor or the welcoming lights of a village, the darkness enveloped them.

  “I’m certain.” Grimur nodded determinedly. “The last Lord Arvo might have disliked talishte, but the man who was lord a century ago had talishte protectors and retainers. Back then, he used the passages beneath the manor for day crypts, and the talishte had a way in and out that led here, so that they could leave to feed without using the formal entrances and exits.”

  “Don’t you think Pollard or Reese would have bricked a passageway like that up, if it didn’t collapse in the Cataclysm?” Connor asked.

  Grimur shook his head. “They didn’t find it. I made sure of that before I led us here. The passage exists—and it leads into the cellars. Where we come out, exactly, I’m not certain, but there’s a door and it works. I didn’t dare go farther. The entrance is just damn difficult to see in the dark—which was the whole point of putting it out here.” He looked from Penhallow to Dolan. “I’m sure this is the redoubt Tormod sensed.”

&n
bsp; Tormod nodded. “I can feel the magic from here,” he said. “Whoever layered the protections did well. It’s very strong. And the wardings were specifically charged against necromancy.” He gave a wan smile. “But other magic will be just as deadly.”

  Dolan turned to Connor. “Here,” he said, passing an object wrapped in tattered canvas to Connor, who knew even before he touched it that he held the Elgin Spike. “We believe that the Wraith Lord will be the best one to use this,” he said gravely. “The rest of us will fight to create the opportunity for you to do what must be done.”

  The entire mission rests on me, Connor thought, feeling sick to his stomach, but he nodded bravely.

  On us, Bevin, the Wraith Lord reminded him. You are not alone in this.

  In a few moments, Grimur located the entrance, a hidden, sloping hole that led beneath the meadow and deep into the hillside. Penhallow stationed two of his men to secure the entrance behind them, and headed belowground. The others navigated the dark, cramped passageways easily, but Connor stumbled and bumped against the rough rock walls.

  Give control to me, Bevin, the Wraith Lord said. I can see what you cannot. With a sigh, Connor allowed the Wraith Lord’s presence to come to the fore, as it did in battle, while his own consciousness retreated to watch from a distance.

  Gradually, Connor’s eyes adjusted. Trusting the Wraith Lord to guide him, they moved steadily through the twisting passageway, which appeared to be partly natural and partly dug by hand. No one spoke.

  Thrane and Reese have to know through the kruvgaldur that their get have been destroyed, Connor thought. Surely they felt the necromancy, even if their wardings protected them. They’re going to be ready for us, and very, very angry.