Darker the Shadow (The Howler King Trilogy Book 1)

by J. Lloyd Morgan

  “My orders were to tell the king directly,” Nestov said. “With the winter we experienced, such resources would have been hard to move. Now that spring has arrived, it’s possible.”

  “Seeing the king is, well—this is not a good time.” Cason’s words were not nearly as convincing as they had been in the past.

  Nestov took a step closer to the table. “Then I have no choice. I will draw up a list of our needs and present them to you by the end of the day. The violation of ignoring such a request is war. Is Nothcar ready to fight a battle to the north and the south?”

  The magistrate stood. “Please, you do not understand.”

  “It is you that fails to understand,” Nestov retorted. “I was sent by Friar Janus to see the king on a manner of the utmost importance. We have been more than patient. We simply cannot wait any longer.”

  Cason said nothing for several heartbeats. Finally, his shoulders slouched noticeably. “You will be given your audience with the king,” he said. “However, you will find the experience … unsettling.”

  Chapter 51

  The protective ward held fast. Most of the enemy cavalry could not stop their horses from charging into what became like a solid wall. Pendr’s ability to remain conscious slipped for a moment after he had projected the ward created from the blue myelur, but was jarred back to his senses as he collapsed to the ground.

  Some of the horseback riders were killed or injured gravely upon impact with the ward, coupled with being trampled by their horses or those who followed them into the unmovable protective shield.

  “Stand ready, men!” Dosfogal cried out. As second-in-command, he took charge due to Pendr’s inability to do more than struggle not to pass out.

  Through the blue myelur, Pendr could sense the ward he had created. It surrounded his men, like a dish covering a plate of food. In theory, the ward should hold as long as Pendr remained conscious. He had learned that those more advanced in their skill to make a ward could create it to stay in place for much longer periods of time—even past their death—though Pendr was nowhere near that level.

  Then, like a pinprick, Pendr felt a small pressure against the ward to his right. He glanced to the spot and saw nothing out of the ordinary to explain the sensation. Focusing his sight beyond the ward, he understood. The enemy had brought a man—a mage they called it—who could wield the blue myelur, and thereby damage the ward.

  At first, Pendr tried to fight it, but it was impossible with his current level of energy. He was simply too tired to do more than watch the ward start to collapse.

  “It won’t hold much longer,” Pendr called out. “I— I can’t—”

  The ward fell, and with it, the remaining enemy soldiers rushed in. Pendr picked up his sword and shield which he had dropped to create the ward. He stood just as a heavily armored man on horseback holding a lance pierced him in his breastplate, just below his ribs. With that, Pendr lost all sense of time—until now.

  He sat up quickly, his hand reaching down to where the lance impaled him. His armor was gone, and in its place was a crudely spun cloth tunic. He lifted the shirt and found that there was no sign of the wound.

  Comprehension replaced confusion. He was inside a large tent—the kind found in a healers’ camp. Ten or so cots lined the walls, each of them filled with either a recovering soldier or a healer resting from what Pendr assumed was the aftermath of their battle.

  Directly to his left was Danla. His heart leaped upon seeing her, though she appeared to be asleep. She’s safe. I’m safe. What happened?

  The images of the battle were still fresh in his mind—as if he were just there. Perhaps they were dreams. With a sickening feeling, Pendr understood they were not dreams. They were memories.

  Pendr sensed movement outside the tent, but none of it seemed frantic as to indicate they were in any immediate danger. Taking his time to investigate the residents of the tent, Pendr only recognized Dosfogal from his squad. The rest of the men were unfamiliar. Perhaps that means that the rest of my squad are well enough not to be here. Thinking this way was better than the alternative.

  “There he is,” Danla said, causing Pendr to face her. Moving abruptly did not hurt—though he felt like he could lay back and sleep for several days.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you,” Pendr said.

  She smiled, and the familiarity of the expression buoyed his spirits even more. Propping herself up on one arm, she said, “I’ve been drifting in and out of sleep. I wanted to be awake when you recovered. What do you remember?”

  Instinctively, Pendr reached for his side where the lance had impaled him. “We were attacked—first by footmen, then by cavalry. I was stabbed, here.” He lifted his shirt and pointed.

  “And after that?” she asked. Her previous cheerful tone became somber.

  Pendr turned his head one way, then the other, seeing if anyone else were listening, unsure why he thought it would matter. “I don’t recall anything after that—aside from waking up here. Where are the rest of my men? We had to have won the battle, or I wouldn’t be here.”

  “Yes. Your squad won,” Danla said softly. She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the cot. Like Pendr, she too was wearing clothes of a simple fabric and design, though she wore a dress which reached her ankles and a green strip woven into the fabric encircled her wrists. “But the victory was not without cost.”

  “Tell me,” Pendr said. He felt his shoulders tense.

  “Of the four of you who survived, you and—”

  “Four?” Pender interrupted. Eight of my squad are dead. These were men he had come to know over the winter. Men he trusted, men he was responsible for … men he had failed.

  Danla seemed to sense his feelings as she reached out to him and placed her hand on his arm. “From what I have been told, which isn’t much, if it wasn’t for you, all of your squad would have been slaughtered. You did all you could.”

  “Did I?” Pendr said. “How can you say that? There must have been something more I could have done or so many wouldn’t have died.”

  “Pendr, stop that,” Danla said sharply. He knew better than to argue with her when she spoke to him that way. “You have to understand there are things you can’t fix or could have done better in the moment. This is just like when you first started to work with your father in the smithy. You tried your best to be able to make what your father could create almost effortlessly, but you couldn’t. You didn’t have the experience or skill yet. Do you remember the night I came to get you from the smithy when you refused to leave because you needed to make a nail as perfect as your father had?”

  “I remember,” Pendr said. “But this is different.”

  “Is it?” she asked. “Is it really? Pendr, I was going to wait for you to wake up before getting a full report on what happened. Before resting, however, I overheard Dosfogal give his report to Mistress Halima. From what I gathered, you created a protective ward in the heat of battle, did you not?”

  “Yes. I had to do something. But I wasn’t strong enough to hold it.”

  Danla squeezed his arm. “I’m certain you will need to hear this from Mistress Halima to fully believe it, but creating a ward is hard to do even under ideal circumstances. You did all you could do and more than you thought possible. Don’t you see? You and three others lived through a battle you should have lost because of what you did, not regardless of what you couldn’t do.”

  He thought on what she said. Danla always had insight on aspects of life with which Pendr struggled. Perhaps her wisdom was connected with her ability to wield the green myelur. It was something to contemplate.

  “I believe you,” he said. “Though it isn’t easy.” He lowered his eyes. “I wish this war had never happened. The things I’ve seen. The things I’ve felt. I don’t want to remember them.”

  For the first time since he had woken, Danla did not have an immediate response. He looked back into her eyes. Tears ran down her cheeks and created dark spots on the front of
her dress.

  “But as my father would say, ‘We work with what the metal can do, and not what we wish it could do.’ Hoping for something that isn’t what it is won’t change it into something we want it to be,” Pendr said. He realized he needed to be stronger—to be brave for Danla. He needed to do whatever he could to protect her, and the rest of the people of Nothcar, even if he did not like it. “Are we in any danger here? Do you know what we will be doing next?”

  Danla wiped the tears from her cheeks and then said, “I heard that Captain Mux is headed to our camp with reinforcements. I can’t say why, or even how the overall war is going.”

  “How soon will he arrive?” Pendr went to stand, but Danla held onto his arm firmly.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But not for a few days, I believe. And to be any use to him, you need to rest.”

  Pendr did not like the idea of lying down and doing nothing, but if he was truly honest with himself, he recognized how drained he felt.

  “Just lie down,” Danla urged. “Rest. We have plenty of guards and scouts around us to warn us of danger.”

  Fighting the urge to disagree, Pendr reluctantly did as Danla told him to do. “Will you stay close?” he asked her.

  “Yes,” she said, some of the cheeriness returning to her words. “I need to rest as well. After all, your wound didn’t heal itself.”

  “You?” Pendr asked, pointing to his side.

  Danla nodded. “Now, get some rest. Please.”

  Pendr rested his head on the cot and looked up at the tent. It was thick enough to keep out any moisture, yet thin enough to allow some light to seep in. I should be dead. Danla is the real reason I’m alive.

  “Danla?” he said quietly.

  “Yes?” she whispered in return.

  “Thank you for saving my life.”

  She paused just a moment before responding. “You’re welcome. Now, rest so you can help end this war.”

  “I will.” With those words, Pendr understood. There was no going home, no returning to any form of normalcy until the threat was eliminated. To do that, he needed to become stronger—to be able to create tougher, more protective wards. To do that, he needed help and guidance. He would seek out Captain Mux and Mistress Halima once he recovered. For now, he did the best thing he could do. He closed his eyes and let sleep take him.

  Chapter 52

  Wyjec watched thirty or so of the pups run around the meadow, playing a game only wolves could understand. It was another beautiful day in the mountains which Wyjec had claimed to be his home.

  At first, Wyjec thought it was his imagination. But over the last several days, he became clear it was not a trick of his mind, nor his eyesight. The newly born wolves were growing quickly—far faster than Wyjec believed possible.

  Alpha’s first born son, the pup Wyjec had named as “One,” was the same size as his father, if not a bit bigger. If Alpha was disturbed by this, Wyjec could not tell. Perhaps it is natural for wolves to grow rapidly. Wyjec had to admit he knew little about the animals, aside from their existence, from his time in the Master’s palace. Yet, something felt … strange … about the pups developing into the size of adults in the space of a few days. Would they get bigger still? If so, that could only help Wyjec in his quest for revenge.

  After his trip north with the adult males to find and kill a bear, Wyjec had felt as powerful as ever. He knew that it was mainly from draining the bear using the yellow myelur, yet it was more.

  During the days that followed, he contemplated the reason why he felt so strong. Several ideas came to him, but it was not until Alpha brought him a nearly-dead rabbit for one of his meals that he made the connection. Just as the wolves have complete power over the rabbits, I am in full control of my life. Spending his youth as a chardi—a slave to the Masters—Wyjec had little to no control over what he would do, nor what he could become.

  For a brief time, Wyjec thought he was in control when he had killed the Masters and had Captain Avadi swear allegiance to him. Once again, with that betrayal, Wyjec discovered how truly deceitful men could be, and with it, he had lost control of his life.

  That had all changed.

  What drove Wyjec now was to exact revenge on Captain Avadi and his men. As he learned from when he killed the Masters, Wyjec wanted to be there, standing over the man who broke his vow of allegiance, when the wolves tore him apart. Only then will I be satisfied.

  That thought, in combination with watching the younger wolves in action on the meadow floor, caused Wyjec to realize he now had a powerful enough force to take out Avadi—if he planned properly.

  The notion of not having to wait several seasons excited Wyjec. This is what I’ve been working for. With more sunlight during the days, traveling south and east would be easier. Also, with so many wolves in one location, hunting became more of a challenge. Yes, moving on would be the right thing to do.

  Wyjec whistled to Alpha, to which the wolf immediately responded. Though Wyjec had learned to communicate with the wolves on a basic level using various growls and whistling sounds, he learned that he could communicate more succinctly through the red myelur.

  Using the power, Wyjec impressed upon Alpha to gather up the rest of the pack—all of them were leaving. Alpha responded without hesitation. By the time the sun was near its zenith, they were on the move.

  Two of the older wolves, Acumen and Jittery, scouted ahead while the rest of the wolves stayed close to Wyjec. The females surrounded him, followed by an outer ring of the younger male wolves.

  Alpha took the point, guiding them along a stream of clear water which wound through the thick forest floor. It was a good idea, Wyjec thought, as they traveled. The water was cool and refreshing—no doubt because it was run-off fed by the melting snow from the top of the mountains—and gave the pack one less necessity to look for while they traveled.

  Food became more plentiful further down the mountain. In all, the wolves seemed in good spirits to be doing something different. Time and again, Wyjec would check on the amber glow of the wolves around him. In each occasion, he found nothing but pure, unwavering devotion.

  The first night, they camped by the stream. Alpha assigned scouts to patrol the area as they slept. It was a good plan and one which Wyjec was proud that the wolf had done on his own without having to be prompted.

  Traveling the next day went as smoothly as the first, until the early evening. The wolves reacted first, tensing up, though Wyjec could not understand what had them concerned. Before much longer, he smelled it. Smoke.

  As the scent became stronger, Wyjec realized the smoke had an almost sweet smell to it. Something is being cooked. It had been over a full season since Wyjec had a cooked meal, and he found his mouth salivating habitually.

  Acumen and Jittery rushed in from the forest ahead and spoke directly to Alpha. Wyjec reached out with the red myelur to gather the meaning of what the beasts communicated. The understanding came less in what words could say, and more in the form of impressions: ahead lay a village.

  Wolves were instinctively wary of humans in large groups. Wyjec could sense the uneasiness start to spread through the pack. Using the red myelur to touch the amber glow around their hearts, he impressed a feeling of comfort. Wyjec knew that the villagers would most likely be more afraid of a giant pack of wolves than the wolves themselves could understand. There was strength in numbers.

  The question next was how to deal with the village. Should they avoid it? With the wolves’ tracking skills, it would not be hard to do so. But how long do we avoid men? Wyjec knew the general direction of Iredell, but not a specific location. He needed more information.

  That meant one thing: he had to go into the village.

  Chapter 53

  While on the run, the last thing Rheq wanted to do was give any indication of his whereabouts to those pursuing him. One of the most obvious types of beacons was smoke from a campfire—something Rheq was in the process of making.

  The sun was sti
ll high in the afternoon sky, and the temperature was warm enough that he did not need the fire for light nor warmth. Neither was he cooking a meal—there were berries and roots aplenty to eat which could be consumed raw.

  Building a fire was out of pure necessity if he wanted to live, even if it could cause those seeking to kill him to hunt him down. The irony was not lost on Rheq as he continued to stack the small twigs into a triangle shape in an area of the forest floor which he cleared of leaves. Branches, the width of his thumb, were close by to add fuel to the fire once it had caught on. For tinder, the warmer weather had produced dandelions, some already mature enough to create the fluffy white ends, also known as dandelion clocks.

  As a child, Rheq loved blowing dandelion clocks into the wind and watching their white, wispy seeds float through the air. Later, he learned they were also a good form of tinder. A small pile of the dandelion clocks lay under the twigs, enough to hopefully start the fire quickly.

  Though his luck had mainly been bad that morning, one thing in his favor was that he found a solid piece of yellowish quartz next to a stream bed. That mineral, along with the knife he picked up while escaping, could create the spark needed to start a fire.

  Other elements he needed, water, White Oak bark, and Bloodroot leaves, were plentiful. The only thing missing was a container to boil water. Fortunately, Rheq had a solution for that as well, or at least one that should work in theory.

  He would have preferred to have more time to prepare, but as it was, he could feel the poison from the gash in his shoulder starting to spread. The pain was distracting enough that Rheq needed to force himself to focus.

  It took less than ten strikes of the quartz against the edge of the knife to create a spark large enough to trigger the dandelion clocks to catch fire. The kindle of the twigs soon followed, which allowed Rheq to then put on larger branches to build a decent sized fire.

  Convinced the fire was going to remain ablaze for the time being, Rheq moved to the next step: crushing the Bloodroot leaves into a fine pulp using two fairly flat rocks. With that completed, he tore the White Oak bark into smaller strips.