Shadowtrap: A Black Foxes Adventure

by Dennis L McKiernan

  Mark Perry groaned in frustration. “Look, it’s not whether Avery is well protected. It’s whether Arthur is.”

  Timothy Rendell’s eyes widened. “Oh? Just Arthur? What about the others, Mark?”

  Perry held out his hand in a calming gesture. “Them, too, of course. But Arthur first.”

  “Puh!” A small burst of air puffed out from Greyson’s pursed lips. “I see, Mark: some are more equal than others, eh?”

  “Damn straight,” replied Perry.

  Alya Ramanni barked a laugh. “Very Orwellian of you, Mark.”

  “Hold on, all of you,” snapped Toni. “I don’t wish to get into a battle royal here.” She turned to Doctor Meyer. “Drew, you and I will go with Jim to gauge for ourselves whether the storm is a threat or not.”

  As the physicist stood, Mark Perry declared, “I’m coming with you.”

  Doctor Stein got up from his console and stepped toward the door. “I’m going with you as well. I want to make certain that no foolish decisions are made.”

  Toni ground her teeth in suppressed rage, but nodded her agreement, and together, the five of them strode from the control center.

  Those remaining behind turned their attention once more to the holo in room center, where the Black Foxes stood back-to-back in a circle ’round a freshening fire.

  After a moment, Alya Ramanni turned to Doctor Greyson and said, “I am reminded of a classic definition of adventures.”

  “Oh?” replied Greyson. “And just what is that, my dear?”

  Alya smiled and tilted her head toward the panting survivors. “Just this, John: an adventure is someone else having a helluva tough time a thousand miles away.”

  19

  Choices

  (Itheria)

  Arik held his rib cage and hissed, “Arton, Ky, I don’t see the Blue Lady. Find out if she is all right.” He turned to Kane. “You had better go, too, healer, she may need help. We can deal with my cracked ribs later.”

  As Kane caught up a burning brand and the trio moved off, Arik turned to Rith and Lyssa. “See to the horses and mules; I think they broke free. If so, don’t go after them; we’ll do that at first light. Take care, there still may be creatures on the loose.”

  Rith shook her head. “With the demon dead, I think not, Arik.” Rith fished about in the supplies and found a small brass and glass lantern and lit it, then she and Lyssa moved off toward the shadowy grove, Lyssa with her saber in hand, Rith yet depending on her bandoliered knives.

  As Kane and Ky and Arton cautiously moved toward the Blue Lady’s stone cote, Ky glanced at Arton and whispered, “Why are you naked, and where are your clothes?”

  “I don’t know,” hissed the thief. “I was sitting on a wall, watching over the camp. Next I knew, the woman I have always dreamed of possessing stood before me, promising incredible delights. I could not resist her at all, even though I knew what she asked was wrong.”

  “What did she want?” whispered Kane.

  “The gemstone.”

  “Oh. Right. —What happened to her? I saw no beauty.”

  “She was the demon.”

  Kane sucked air in through his teeth.

  Arton drew in a deep breath and sissed, “I damn near cost us all our lives.”

  Ky shook her head. “Take no blame to yourself, Arton, you were spellbound.”

  Before Arton could reply, Kane put his finger to his lips, commanding total silence, for they had nearly reached the cote of the Blue Lady. Yellow light from her tiny lamp shone out through the door. Kane dropped the burning brand to the ground and grasped his spear in two hands, the weapon angled forward and low; Ky sidled to Kane’s left, her shield on her left arm, her unusual main gauche in her right hand; Arton brought his crossbow to the ready and moved to Kane’s right.

  And they stepped to the doorway.

  Inside they found the Blue Lady, slain, her eyes wide, her throat ripped out.

  “There was nothing I could do for her,” rumbled Kane as Arik gingerly shed his upper garments. “A healer I may be, but I cannot resurrect the dead.”

  On the opposite side of the fire, Arton pulled on the last one of his boots and stood. “I’ll say this, Arik: the old man’s warning proved to be true—things are not always what they seem. She was no young lady—”

  “If it’s the demon you speak of,” interjected Rith, as she stepped back into the ruin, Lyssa following after, “she was not even a toothless old hag.”

  “They’re gone, Arik,” said Lyssa, “horses and mules both.”

  “First light, then,” he replied, “and we’ll track them down.”

  “The Blue Lady is dead,” said Ky.

  Rith’s eyes teared up, and Lyssa’s look fell grim. “Someone will pay for this,” growled the ranger.

  “How many other deaths, I wonder, lie back along the trail of this gem?” asked Arton.

  “And how many more are yet to come?” added Ky.

  Arik by now had doffed his upper leathers and the silken shirt beneath. Kane had him lie down on his bedroll, and then squatted beside him. “Hm,” rumbled the big man as he probed Arik’s rib cage, the warrior flinching as Kane gently pressed upon the individual bones, a look of intense concentration upon the healer’s face. Finally, Kane sat back on his heels and said, “Well, bucko, you’ve five ribs cracked—two here, three there.”

  Arton barked a laugh. “Taking your ease beneath a giant boar and then having a dire wolf pile on will do that every time, you know.”

  “I’ll try to remember that when next I face a big pig,” said Arik, a grimace on his face.

  “Next time, lad,” said Kane, “get out of the way.” The big man then leaned forward to lay a hand on either side of Arik’s chest. “God, I hate broken bones,” he sighed, then in a normal tone, said, “Now, hold perfectly still.” And in utter stillness, himself, Kane paused an instant, then muttered something under his breath. His hands trembled slightly and a twinge of pain crossed his features, yet for long moments he neither flinched nor moved. At last he released Arik’s chest and leaned back on his heels and gently touched his fingers to his own rib cage. “Arda, but I do hate broken bones.”

  Ky offered him a drink, but Kane shook his head. “I’ll be all right in a candlemark or so. Till then, I’ll just breathe shallowly.”

  Grunting, Kane stood and made his way to the remains of the ruin wall, where he sat nearly upright, gently leaning back against it. Again, Ky offered him tea, and this time he took it, even though he had no honey to sweeten the taste.

  In contrast, Arik stood and swiftly donned his jerkin and leather jacket, his ribs whole once more.

  “. . . and that’s what happened,” said Arton. “What I’d like to know is how to avoid such entrancement in the future. I mean, I was completely consumed with desire, and it was as if I had no will of my own. She just told me what to do . . . and I did it.”

  As Rith examined her silver daggers, retrieved from where they had fallen when the demon vanished, she said, “Perhaps there was nothing you could have done, Arton. You didn’t see her coming. If you had had even a small moment, you might have been able to resist.”

  Arton threw wide his hands. “How?”

  Rith glanced across the fire at him. “Distract her. Interrupt her spell. Or at the very least, harden your resolve.”

  Ky smiled. “Yes, Arton, harden your resolve and not your nether parts.”

  Kane laughed, then winced and held his ribs.

  Smiling, Rith added, “Even had you seen her, she might have entranced you regardless. This was a powerful demon, you know.”

  “Powerful enough to find us,” said Lyssa.

  Arik turned to the ranger. “Perhaps, love, it is as you said in Gapton: in spite of the silver, the demons may somehow track the gem.”

  “But if that is so, then why didn’t they find it when they killed the gnoman?” asked Kane.

  Arik shrugged, and Rith said, “I say again, this was a powerful demon.”


  “Indeed,” replied Arton. “Monstrous beasts springing from nowhere—”

  “Oh no,” protested Ky, pointing at the great arch of stone behind. “They didn’t spring from nowhere, but came from the wall instea—” Ky’s voice suddenly halted in mid word, and the syldari’s eyes widened. She snatched up a burning brand and leapt to her feet.

  “What is it?” demanded Arton, reaching for his crossbow.

  “The paintings,” gasped Ky. “They’re gone!”

  Foxes turned and looked; on the great expanse of stone, shadow wrapped line drawings of ancient creatures still shifted stirred in the wavering light of the fire.

  “What in the seven hells are you talking about, Ky?” Puzzlement filled Arton’s voice. “They’re not gone!”

  But by this time Ky was out of the ruin and moving toward the vast wall. She pointed at a large blank space and called back, “Here was an enormous spotted cat of some kind, and over here the giant boar. Up there was the monstrous wolf, and down here the long-toothed tiger. And in the very center of this wide empty place was the great rough beast. Surely you all remember that here was painted the great rough beast.”

  “Arda’s balls,” breathed Arik, “she’s right.”

  “The demon loosed them upon us . . .” said Kane as Ky ran her hand across empty rock, then added, “. . .leaving nothing behind but blank stone.”

  Lyssa glanced high up at the fox in the shadows. It was still there.

  At dawn’s first light, Lyssa and Rith set off to find the horses and mules, while the others broke camp. Kane, his rib cage whole once more, prepared the Blue Lady for burial, washing her with clear water from the Gleen and wrapping her in her white cloak, doing what he could to make her presentable, though her torn, gaping throat was beyond his limited means.

  They carried her out near the edge of the great sheltering hollow, where the sun in the day and the moon and stars in the night could shine down on her cairn made from rounded river rocks. But they said no words over her grave, waiting instead until Rith and Lyssa returned.

  Time passed. . . .

  At last they heard the sound of hooves, and riding barebacked, Lyssa and Rith came, four horses driven before them, three mules in tow.

  “We found them south where the bank runs out,” said Lyssa, throwing a leg over and dismounting, “three or four miles downstream.”

  “Munching river grass as if nothing had happened,” added Rith, sliding down as well. “They seem no worse for the wear.”

  Cooing softly, Arik ran his hands down each of Redlegs’ shanks, lifting the hooves and examining them. “Well, old fellow, you look all right to me. Let’s gear you up for the ride ahead.”

  As the Foxes set about saddling their mounts and packing their provisions on the mules, Arik called out to Lyssa, “If, as the Blue Lady said, Pon Barius lives in the Wythwood, then what choices lie before us as to route?”

  “We’ll have to go back through the Rawlon Range,” she answered. “The Wythwood lies westerly beyond.”

  “Then that must have been where the gnoman was going,” said Kane. “West to the Wythwood.”

  “Most probably,” replied Lyssa. “One way to get there is through the notch at Gapton then southwesterly a hundred miles or so.”

  “Oh”—Ky shuddered—”I don’t want to go that way. That’s where the drakka were lying in wait for him. And since now it is we who bear the gemstone, then likely they’ll lie in wait for us as well. Isn’t there another way?”

  Lyssa nodded slowly. “Yes. We can go south nearly three hundred miles to Vilmar Pass and through, then back north two hundred.”

  Arik looked across Redlegs’ back. “Then Gapton is shorter by nearly four hundred miles.”

  Ky called out from under her mare. “Yes, Arik, but we know the drakka can get at travelers in the Gapton notch, so the longer way may be safer.”

  Arton pulled hard on his saddle cinch. “Perhaps, Ky, but recall, the demon came at us here in the Blue Lady’s grot, and so demonkind might be able to find us no matter what route we take; they’ll have several more weeks to do so if we go the longer way.”

  Lyssa tied on her bedroll. “As my da ever cautioned, the short road isn’t always best.”

  Ky stood. “I’m with Lyssa; let’s take the longer path.” She turned to Kane. “What say you, spear-chucker?”

  The big man shrugged. “Short or long, each holds its danger.”

  Rith, now working with Arton to lade one of the mules, stopped a moment in reflection, then said, “What about the old high pass?”

  Lyssa frowned. “High pass?”

  Rith canted her head. “Well, I am not certain that it actually exists, but there is a fragment of a bygone saga telling of Galamor and Kitter’s flight back in the time of the demonwars:

  “It seems as if King Ranvir’s betrothed, Kitter, was travelling cross-country when night fell. She and her retinue took refuge in the ruins of an ancient tower, where they were besieged by demonkind. The tower fell, and just as she was about to be taken captive, she was rescued by the king’s champion, Galamor. Riding double, they fled into the Rawlon Range. Here much of the fragment is lost, but the part which remains hints at dreadful terrors on the journey through, for the way was said to be sinister. Even so, they made it. It was during the flight from demonkind, though, that Kitter and Galamor became lovers. Thus it was that they had to flee once more . . . this time to escape Ranvir’s wrath. What happened thereafter is not told, for the rest of the stanzas are lost.”

  Kane, finished with the mule, asked, “And you think that this saga shows a way through the Rawlon Range?”

  “Perhaps,” replied Rith. “The old legends often have a basis in truth.”

  “If it’s a way through the range,” asked Arton, “then why isn’t it a well-known trade route?”

  Kane rumbled, “Did she not say that the way was sinister? Well, if that’s the case, then perhaps it is too fearsome for trade caravans and such.”

  “More likely the way is too narrow,” answered Rith. “The stanzas do speak of precarious trails. Too, there is some enigmatic challenge, but whatever it might be, the fragments do not tell . . . and if the saga ever did, then that part was written on the sections lost.”

  Arik finished loading the second mule and turned to Rith. “Is this way across the Rawlons nearby?”

  “I am not certain,” answered Rith, “but somewhere south of here is an old stone ruin named Kitter’s Tower—though the fragment says that it was an ancient wizard’s hold—and behind the ruin is a mountain called Galamor’s Crag.”

  “I know of this mountain,” declared Lyssa. “It is on one of my charts. But I did not know that it might hold a route through the range.”

  “Where is this crag?” asked Arik. “How far?”

  Lyssa searched through her saddlebags and withdrew a roll of maps wrapped in oiled leather. Unbinding the roll, she shuffled among the vellums and extracted one. After a moment—”Hm. Nothing here about Kitter’s Tower, but the crag is well marked. I make it to be seventeen, eighteen leagues.” She looked up at Arik. “South two days, perhaps three. Certainly no more than that.”

  Rith stepped over to peer at Lyssa’s map. “Does it show a trail across?”

  Lyssa shook her head No.

  Kane pulled tight the cinch strap on the remaining mule’s pack frame. “If there’s a trail through the Rawlons at Kitter’s Tower”—he arcanely wriggled his fingers in Lyssa’s direction—”her casting will find it.”

  Arik stroked his chin. “Yes. And if there is a way through, then it might be the shortest route to the Wythwood.”

  “I say we try it,” said Ky as she helped Kane with the last of the mules. “I would think it better than going back through the Gapton notch, where perhaps the drakka even now lie in wait. And it also seems to me that if it is the shortest route to the Wythwood, then we give demonkind less time to locate us before we reach Pon Barius.”

  “Speaking of Pon Barius,” said A
rton, “if I recall, the Wythwood is a big place. Just where do you think he might live?”

  “If he is still alive,” amended Ky.

  “Oh, I think he yet lives,” said Rith, “else the Blue Lady would not have spoken as she did.”

  “And as to where he might be in that ancient forest,” added Lyssa, “the Blue Lady said in Wythwood heart—probably near the center, though it could also mean some special place within.”

  Arton looked at the ranger. “Special place?”

  Lyssa inclined her head. “Yes, Arton—special place. Haven’t you noticed that every forest has one? It could be a waterfall or an outcropping of stone or a mossy bank or a still mere or any number of things. You will know when you find it, for it is the place where the spirit of the woods seems strongest of all. Out from this place radiates the essence of the forest, out from its very heart. And it’s not only forests who have hearts, for so do vales, deserts, mountains, swamps, and other such . . . some are evil, I might add, though most are not. And hearts are not always in the center, though usually they lie nearby. As to the Wythwood heart—we will know it when we see it.”

  Arton nodded, accepting her words, then he glanced back into the cavernous hollow. “Whatever we do, no matter which course we choose, let us get on with it, for I am eager to be gone from here before another demon like the one last night shows up—or one even more powerful.”

  With the horses saddled and the pack frames arranged on the mules, Arik’s gaze swept over them all. “Are we agreed to try this old high pass, then? The shortest route . . . assuming we can find it.”

  One by one each nodded in assent, though when Lyssa’s turn came she reluctantly acquiesced but murmured, “As my da ever cautioned, the short road isn’t always best.”

  Now that all was ready, the Foxes stepped to the side of the Blue Lady’s cairn, where Rith sang of a priceless treasure gone. As the last echo rang from the canyon walls, Arik spoke a vow for them all: “Blue Lady, can we but find a way, your death will be avenged.”

  They strode to the grove of silver birch and mounted up, Arik, Arton, and Kane each with a mule tethered behind. Arik glanced at the others and said, “To the Wythwood.”