Shadow and Thorn

by Kenley Davidson

  It was a quiet party that set off next morning, into the bright sun of a late summer day. The road was climbing noticeably, and now and then between the trees they could catch a glimpse of the mountains they intended to cross. The way should be easy this time of year, at least in terms of weather. The snows were several months off and the rains well past.

  Once they approached the border, however, there would likely be a new threat. Andari roads were kept clear of brigands who might see their party as a target, but there was no law now in Erath. It had doubtless become something of a haven for those whose lawlessness had driven them from their own lands in search of a place they could exist without fear of apprehension.

  If Alexei and his companions were able to find the Rose and restore it to its rightful place, brigands would no longer be a problem. Until then, however, Alexei would need to consider the safety of returning refugees. Or rather, he would need to hand the problem to whomever would be the new sovereign. Even had he been willing to take up the Stone Scepter, the Erathi might prefer not to follow the House of Nar. And if Athven Nar no longer held any power, they could just as well remove all but the Rose to another seat, much as it pained Alexei to think of it.

  Less painful, he suspected, than being asked to attempt the job himself.

  The sound of the earth moving behind him signaled the approach of Loraleen at a ground-shaking trot. Malichai drew even and pulled his mare to a walk.

  “Up ahead,” he murmured in a low voice. “Someone walking. Be wary.”

  Alexei glanced up, but whatever Malichai had seen was still out of range of his vision. He had not thought his eyesight as bad as that.

  “Silvay.” He looked back over his shoulder. “Can you see them?”

  She shaded her eyes with her hand. “Oh, I expect it’s only Wilder.”

  Alexei and Malichai turned in unison to regard her quizzically.

  “The next member of our party,” she explained. “He was due to join us shortly.”

  “When were you planning to inform us?” Alexei didn’t care if she knew he was irritated. He’d forgotten how difficult it could be to spend time around seers. They so often forgot the difference between their visions and reality, and assumed everyone knew the same things they did. And sometimes, they simply enjoyed being annoyingly mysterious.

  “When we found him, of course.” Silvay did not look overly concerned.

  “And what do you mean by ‘next’?” Malichai inquired.

  “Did I say next?” she echoed. “Oh dear. Must be my age. I’m sure I meant other.”

  There was no moving her from her statement, so Alexei dropped the matter as they drew even with the figure of a small boy who was trudging determinedly down the margin of the road. He wore cheap, poorly made clothing, boots with holes in the toes, and a floppy brown hat that seemed to be growing along with his floppy brown hair. Alexei was reminded strongly of a stray puppy.

  “Hallo,” the boy greeted them cheerfully, in Andari.

  “Wilder,” Silvay said with a nod.

  “You’re a seer.” He acknowledged this as though it were both common and expected, then glanced around her at Porfiry. “I can’t tell much about him, just that he’s angry.” Next he looked up at Alexei and Malichai. “You’d be the king,” he told Alexei, without any sign that he had said anything astonishing, “and you”—he tilted his head to gaze up at Malichai—“haven’t really got an aura at all. Are you Andari?”

  Malichai glanced at Alexei and burst into full-throated laughter. “And here I was thinking His Majesty had sent me for simple guard duty. I’ll have to thank him after I return. He’s gone and given me my very own epic ballad!” He slapped his thigh with one studded leather gauntlet, unquenchable enthusiasm shining in his eyes. “We have a king in exile, a quest for treasure, a band of friends on a journey, and here’s me with no one to record it.”

  “Shut up.” Alexei regarded the boy wearily. A prescient, if he was any judge. They could read auras and were generally aware of needs beyond any idea of words. It would explain why he was traveling alone, miles from anywhere.

  “Where are you going, Wilder? Is that your real name?”

  “Oh, it’s my name,” the boy said. “I needed to be here, so I came.”

  “Won’t your parents miss you?” Alexei lifted a hand to rub absently at his scars. They rarely pained him, but it had become a habit, especially when he was feeling self-conscious.

  “Haven’t got any. A farmer took me in a few years back after my mum died.”

  “And won’t this farmer wonder where you’ve gone?”

  “Nah.” The boy dismissed the possibility with an airy wave. “I told him I needed to be somewhere and that I probably wouldn’t be back.”

  Alexei closed his eyes to contemplate the probable reaction of the nameless farmer. Had he assumed the boy was mad? Been thankful to be rid of a burden? Did it matter? “I suppose you want to come with us.”

  “It’s what I’m to do.” The boy shrugged. “Can’t say why. Don’t know. Just know I’m to be here and that you’ll need me.”

  Alexei gritted his teeth and wondered whether the universe was getting its revenge for his years of hiding from his responsibilities. “Very well, Wilder. I expect you’d only follow us if we said no. You can ride with Silvay, since she was so eager to collect you.”

  Silvay smiled serenely and offered the boy her hand. “Up with you then. Pleased to have you, Wilder. You can tell me more of yourself as we ride.”

  “Oh, not much to tell.” His lack of a story did not seem to distress Wilder very much. In truth, nothing did. Neither Alexei’s scars nor Malichai’s size. “My mum and I have lived around here ever since I was born. Close enough to the border that Mum could teach me about my magic and all. She knew things like me. Always knew when we needed to move so we wouldn’t be found out.”

  Alexei kept half an ear on their conversation as Silvay drew the child out and listened patiently to his tale of refugees making their way as best they could—moving from job to job, hiding in barns, sleeping in the forest, trying to stay close enough to their borders that they did not lose their sense of self and purpose.

  Was it so hard, then, for most Erathi to walk away from their magic? Alexei remembered feeling a strange sense of relief along with the loss when his magic had been smothered for the first time by the silver that ran through Andar’s veins. He had told himself it was better to forget, better to forsake his heritage entirely than to endure the agony of waiting for an opportunity, or a reason, to return.

  But that was only half of the truth. If he was honest with himself, his relief had more to do with guilt than practicality. How could he return, after his failure? How could he go back and face the ruin that was Athven Nar unless he had a way to make it right?

  So he had let himself pretend it was for the best. If Porfiry had not crossed his path, he might have spent the rest of his life as a simple horseman, content for his magic and his guilt to lie dormant together. But when Porfiry appeared out of his past, Alexei had seen his chance to redeem himself. To return the traitor to Erath and achieve justice for his people.

  Yet even as he let himself dwindle into forgetfulness, hiding from the terrifying burden Beatra had bequeathed him, looking only for a chance at revenge, it seemed the last remnants of his people had been waiting too. Waiting for an opportunity. Waiting for hope. Had they been waiting for him?

  The road continued to climb over the next few days, and the footing grew somewhat worse. The nights were cool, almost cold, and the trees grew shorter and more sparse. They were getting close. Alexei could feel his gift awakening within him, stretching out tendrils, testing the surroundings. He noticed Malichai checking his weapons one afternoon and asked if he expected trouble.

  “Borders are always trouble, no matter where they lie,” the Andari answered. “And here more than most, I’ll wager. King Hollin protects these lands with his word and his laws, but the moment we can reasonably be assumed to
have crossed, we’re on our own. There are no rules but what a man, or a woman, make for themselves.” He eyed the length of his iron-bound staff before reattaching it to his saddle. “I can’t say I mislike the chance to make my own rules.”

  Silvay cast back the edge of her cloak and adjusted the belt that held her sheathed daggers. “And I can’t say I’m looking forward to enjoying the hospitality of brigands.”

  “If you have seen something, now would be a good time to share with your companions,” Alexei told her dryly. “I don’t mind being surprised by small, grubby boys, but if I find that you knew beforehand of an attack and chose to let us chance our fate, I could find it in me to be annoyed.”

  “Oh, do you mean me?” Wilder looked at him, wide-eyed with surprise.

  “Do you see any other small boys in need of baths?” Alexei asked, trying to smile to let the boy know he was not upset. Though with the pull of his scars, he might simply scare the child instead.

  “I don’t see any, at all,” Wilder replied firmly.

  “Then perhaps we ought to find you a nice quiet pond,” Alexei retorted, but before he could finish his thought, a shout rang out some hundred-odd paces ahead, where the road came to the top of a rise.

  Six horsemen had appeared out of nowhere and ranged themselves across the path, sword hilts visible over their shoulders. Their uniform was that of the average mercenary: mismatched, patched clothing under cobbled-together bits of armor. Their leader even appeared to have an eye patch.

  Alexei sighed and pulled his horse to a stop. “Well, they’re certainly going about the business properly, aren’t they?”

  “I’d say they could use a bit more local color,” Malichai responded thoughtfully. “Perhaps a war hawk, perched on that one’s shoulder. A wolf, snarling at their feet. Braided hair, dyed red with the blood of their enemies.”

  “Oh, do be serious,” Silvay reprimanded them sharply. “A day like this demands a necklace of skulls, at the very least.”

  Alexei glanced over and was surprised to see a slight smile on her lips. Wilder was peering out from behind her with what appeared to be bloodthirsty glee. “You all do realize we are horribly outnumbered,” he mentioned casually. “We’re close to the border, certainly, but not close enough for defensive magic.”

  Porfiry began muttering nervously, but Alexei ignored him, even if he agreed with the sentiment. He was feeling a trifle nervous himself. He didn’t want to scare the boy, but they were unlikely to get out of this confrontation without a fight.

  “Perhaps they’re simply guarding the road,” Silvay suggested. “Making sure no one has any nefarious intentions.”

  “Shall we ask them?” Malichai grinned. He pulled his bow from his back and laid it across his lap.

  They were saved the trouble of deciding. The man with the eye patch spurred his horse towards them, sword in hand, though his leisurely canter indicated that he did not intend to run them through. At least not quite yet. He pulled his horse to a sliding stop just before there would have been an actual collision.

  The brigand was about as hairy and unwashed as Alexei had expected, though his armor, seen up close, was decent enough. His good eye raked their little group and he grinned, clearly having seen something he liked.

  “Welcome,” he rasped, “to the free territory of Grissom. I’m Grissom. It’s sixty-weight of silver to pass, though I’m adding another twenty for the sheer size of that one.” He gestured to Malichai, who leaned on his pommel and looked entirely at his ease. Loraleen flicked an ear and cocked one hind leg.

  “How very… unexpected,” Alexei replied, raising an eyebrow at the name. “According to my maps, we are still well within the borders of Andar.”

  “Well now”—the man spat on the ground—“His Fine Majesty isn’t here, is he? And I am, and there are six of us, and none of us are women or children or prisoners.” He smiled again, baring yellow teeth that looked as though they’d begun life in the mouth of a small horse.

  “Be that as it may”—Alexei shrugged in apparent helplessness—“sixty-weight of silver, even without the tax on unreasonable size, is entirely beyond our means. As I’m sure you must have realized.”

  “If you won’t pay, we’ll be happy to take it. I’m sure there are enough valuables on you lot to make it worth our while. Can sell the horses, and probably the woman too.”

  Alexei’s grip on the reins turned to iron.

  “No.” His tone should have frozen the man where he sat.

  “No?”

  “No slaving. Not here. Not ever.”

  “We weren’t planning to ask.”

  The man lifted his reins, preparing to turn back to his men. Only the slightest shift in his other hand betrayed his intention to signal them, but it was as far as he got. Malichai nocked an arrow and shot him through the heart before Alexei even realized he’d moved.

  The brigand’s face went slack with disbelief as he slid gracelessly from his saddle and fell in a lifeless heap under his horse’s hooves. The horse blew nervously and sidled away, jerking at the rein still caught in the dead man’s grasp.

  “He wasn’t inviting us for tea,” Malichai said, in response to the looks on his companion’s faces.

  “I hadn’t supposed he was,” Alexei responded, still in shock at how quickly his bear-like companion had moved. “I simply hadn’t realized how fast you are.”

  “No one does.” Malichai appeared quite comfortable with Alexei’s dismay. “I think it must be the beard. Now, in a moment, his friends are going to come looking for revenge.” Almost the instant he spoke, the five remaining horsemen spurred forward as one.

  “Plan?” Alexei barked.

  “Back up,” Malichai bellowed over his shoulder as he urged Loraleen forward. “I’ll try not to splash any blood on you.”

  Placid as she might have looked, Loraleen hit her stride with a vengeance after only a few steps. Three arrows later, only two men remained on their horses to clash with the bellowing form of Malichai, who had cast aside his bow and drawn his staff.

  And then, somehow, it was over. The last two men lay groaning on the ground and Malichai was trotting back towards them, pausing only to hook his bow from the ground using the end of his staff.

  “Wasn’t even a proper fight,” he complained when he reached them, stowing his weapons and smoothing the windblown strands of his beard. “Those men had no idea how to work as a unit. That bounder ought to be ashamed.” He glared at the very much dead leader of the gang.

  “I…” Alexei had no idea what one said after such a one-sided contest. “Thank you?”

  “I’d say it was my pleasure, but that was a bit embarrassing. Perhaps we should ride on. There may be more of them.” He sounded pleased by the possibility.

  “Ah, Malichai…” How did one phrase this? “Why exactly did King Hollin choose you for this mission?”

  “To protect you, of course.” The big man shrugged as though this were simple. “And to report back about conditions on the other side of the border.”

  “And you weren’t needed elsewhere?”

  “Well…” Malichai at least had the grace to look embarrassed. “It suited me to leave the Evenleigh area for a time. May have gotten in a spot of trouble while I was waiting for a task. Fighting in taverns. Bit of a brawl with a few of the Thalassan ambassador’s guards… that sort of thing.”

  “I see.” Alexei rode on in silence as they crested the hill and continued down into a shallow mountain valley. He did see. He just didn’t want to.

  He was in an accursed epic, just as Malichai predicted. All they needed now was a healer and a priest. Possibly a dog. And he wasn’t even going to pretend to be surprised when at least one of the three showed up around the next bend.

  Chapter 2

  Nothing. After all her painstaking work with the lock, the room at the peak of the north tower proved to be as empty as all of the unlocked ones below. Empty of all but echoes, and shadows that lay where they shouldn’t. By
now, Zara barely even noticed errant shadows. They were as much a part of her day-to-day existence as the silence and the stone.

  It had probably been a beautiful room once. Even the stones of the floor were so smoothly fitted, they appeared to have been hewn by magic. Zara could imagine retreating here, far above the bustle of life, with a cozy couch, loads of cushions, and a pile of histories taller than her head. Someone had used this room, and she didn’t think it had been a prison. There was too much light. Too much whimsy in the slope of the ceiling.

  Removing her protective gloves, Zara ran a wistful finger across one of the diamond panes of the casement. Dirt came away on her finger, leaving a tiny streak of clean glass where she could place her eye and peer out at the world far below if she wanted to.

  She didn’t. Perhaps the room’s former inhabitant had enjoyed the view, but Zara had seen it all before. Why bother looking at a world you couldn’t get to no matter how hard you tried? She might not be locked in a tower, but she was a prisoner all the same.

  Pulling her gloves back on, Zara swept her long white braid over her shoulder and left. She closed the door behind her because… well, it was what one did, even if no one was there to tell her to close doors. And because when one was utterly alone in an ancient, drafty castle that was probably haunted, one closed doors. It didn’t make it much better, but there was no one to judge her, so Zara did as she pleased.

  Her torch flickered fitfully in the brass fixture outside the door, illuminating the first steps of the seemingly endless spiral of stairs that awaited her. Back down. Another useless tower to cross off her list. Another cold, cheerless evening with no sound but the crackle of the fire and her own breathing. The cat, as far as she knew, had never made a sound.

  How many days had it been now? By her scratches on the kitchen wall, she thought about three months had passed since her father and the others had left her to her fate.